


I Have Died Everyday Waiting For You

by teenuviel1227



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Adventure, Fluff, M/M, Modern Magic, Smut, Vampire!Brian, Werewolf!Dowoon, Werewolfhunter!Sungjin, parkbros are half-brother demigods, plays on greek myth, psychichealer!Wonpil, vampire hunter!Jae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-06-09 05:31:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15260472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenuviel1227/pseuds/teenuviel1227
Summary: Jae is the best vampire hunter in the business--half-god, half-human, he’s vanquished thousands upon thousands of vampires in his long lifetime: with the help of his bestfriends, Werewolf-hunter Sungjin and Doctor Kim Wonpil, they’re out to keep the streets of Seoul safe. And for the longest time, safe means vampire-free, means werewolf-free, that is until they meet a vampire with a heart of gold and a young werewolf he’s taken under his wing. They take the odd two in and finally, after nearly three hundred years of life, Jae finds himself falling in love.





	1. Time Stands Still

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is based on this U by @mdhngrdr on Twitter: https://twitter.com/mdhngrdr/status/1016317677067853824
> 
> Thank you to the artist for letting me make this and dedicate it to you. :) Your art is wonderful. 
> 
> Titles are from A Thousand Years by Christina Perri: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kKzQ9xwAodVQ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunt.

The alarm in the old, refurbished firehouse rings shrill, two lights flickering on--one in the lab, the other in the shared bedroom. Outside, the night hangs a liquid, velvet black over Mapo-gu, Seoul, the full moon luminescent, so bright it looks almost like an eye caught in the headlights. In the distance, a howl. Across the river, a vampire moves like a shadow across a film shutter, the only glimpse of him available to the naked eye a glimpse of a pointed ear, a jet-black eye, a snide smile.

In the firehouse, Jae jolts awake.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Sungjin says, tossing Jae’s black leather jacket at him. “We’ve got a hit. Gangnam, right by Exit 9. Call was sent in two minutes ago. Something about a parking lot and a motorcycle and someone looting the local pharmacy.”

Jae frowns, looking up at his laptop monitor on which he has about fifty Amazon tabs open--his wooden stakes have been taking a beating lately and he’s been looking into making a couple custom from the essence of Agarwood mixed in with sturdy Narra and an extra coat of Ebony. It’s unconventional but he thinks substituting his usual Acacia for Agarwood will give him the bend-and-flex that he needs. He touches his cheek, feels the imprint of the keys where he’d slept on the keyboard.

_That is, if I don’t sleep through this whole damn century._

“Fuck, I’m exhausted,” Jae looks at his monitor, scowls at Sungjin. The past few weeks have been full of Vampire raids, reported crimes, targeted investigations for people looking to smuggle Powder Blue. “Hey. It’s red--why do I have to come? You can handle a couple of mutts on your o--”

“--look again, smartass,” Sungjin says, checking his backpack for vials and doing a quick inventory of his poisoned bolts before strapping his belt to his hip and taking his crossbow off of its mount on the wall--some sugammadex for paralysis, a good dose of sodium pentobarbital in case things get really frisky. Five, one. They’ll have to be careful tonight. “Some of your blue-bloods are out there tonight too. They’ve really had it in for you this month.”

Jae’s eyebrows furrow as the light blinks blue.

“What the heck--a Vamp-Dog brawl again? Don’t these fucking clan wars ever get old? Dude, buy some cryptocurrency and take it online, it’ll save everyone a great deal of trouble.”

“Nope,” Wonpil says, walking into the room, his iPad open to the report sent in. “Not a brawl.”

He’s wearing his white Doctor’s coat but has his hunting suit on underneath--black snakeskin for extra protection (it’s hard being the only mortal in a household like this), pistols holstered into the straps. His medicine kit is in his backpack: bulletproof, water-resistant, death-avoidant, with the fabric spell-bound, proofed and tested by Sungjin himself.

“The report’s limited but we’ve never had anything like this before. One vampire, jet black hair, tall, around five-ten--and get this: _long_ -eared, male,  _and_ raven-eyed--”

Jae lets out a low whistle, pulling the nearby case open and taking his only two stakes that haven’t been blunted or snapped yet from all the hunting they’d done this month: fox-claw and Beech, willow, mahogany, and Phoenix-ash. He picks up his shield--made of Hephaestian steel, forged in Olympus, but tinkered with to expand and shrink at his will--and straps it to his back.

“--royalty, huh? I wonder who pissed this guy off--”

“--and one male wolf: brown coat, hazel eyes, pretty young, a bit slighter in build, in full transformation tonight--”

“-- _one_ wolf,” Sungjin muses. “The pack must be nearby. They never travel alone, we should take tear gas in case--”

“--now, if one of you stupid demi-gods would fucking let me finish talking,” Wonpil says curtly. “The report says that they seem to be working together. The wolf robbed the store and transformed mid-heist. They hit him with some tranquilizers but it doesn’t seem to be working. And then the Vampire held one of the cops hostage before slipping into a nearby alley--then the wolf _woke up_ and now there’s pandemonium--”

Jae groans. “--does this mean the cops are there?”

“Unfortunately. Jamie sent in the report--”

Sungjin lets out a sigh. “--she’ll never let us hear the end of it.”

Wonpil tosses the keys, catches them before nodding to the old fireman’s pole they’ve decided to keep.

“Let’s get going, then.”

Sungjin nods, following him down the hatch.

Jae frowns, still thinking about the Vampire Prince and who--what--they might be about to encounter across the river. With that, he slides down the pole himself, lands in the firehoues garage. Sungjin and Wonpil slam the doors of the van shut behind them. Jae mounts his bike, locks his helmet in place and revs the engine as the garage door lifts open. The van’s passenger window rolls down.

“Exit 9, you come in from the east, we’ll take the west side-street. We don’t want to alarm the cops and risk wolf baby and bat-prince running away.”

Jae nods. “Got it.”

_It’s going to be a long night._

And they’re off.

 

Jae slows down as he approaches the scene, surveying it from a mile away--if being a demi-god helps with anything, it’s being able to watch things from afar: he sees the crime scene, the yellow tape bright yellow, the police sirens flashing blue-and-red as if to mimick their own hunter code: red for wolves, blue for vamps. He can see Jamie, hair cut into a short, blonde bob at her chin, her detective’s coat flapping in the cool night air, her gun held aloft sa she nods, signaling her men to head into the pharmacy’s rear entrance from the alley. He can see the police men dressed in black, bulletproof jackets ( _as if that’ll help,_ Jae thinks) creeping toward the far wall, surrounding the building. In their guns, silver nitrate bullets. In their belts, sugammadex-tipped darts. He can see the van that Wonpil and Sungjin are in, watches as the headlights flicker off, watches as they slow down and Sungjin gets out, slipping into the shadows--and then _there_ , Jae sees it: a flicker of movement so quick, so liquid that anyone else would miss it.

Slipping away from the scene through an east-facing window: a dark figure silhouetted against the moonlight, aquiline nose, the hint of fangs peeking out from delicate lips, the point of his ears sharp against the illumination of the moon--and then he’s off.

And so is Jae.

_Not so fast, you goddamn bat._

Jae revs his bike, rides it up an old plank leaning against a dumpster before landing and swerving as soon as he hits the ground, riding sideways down an alley and up the next, tailing the shadow as it goes quick as lightning. Fortunately for Jae, lightning is in his blood, is his birthright, almost. _If only my father weren’t such an asshole._ He grins, watching as the shadow hesitates before leaping off one of the higher buildings, aiming for one of the open windows. With that, he revs the engine and pulls his shield from where it’s strapped onto his back, throwing it at an angle and willing it to elongate. It stretches long and high and Jae speeds up it, jumping off of his bike and aiming all his momentum toward the throw--one spin and the flick of a wrist and the wood finds its mark, the shadow pinned at the shoulder to the rooftop floor. A groan, a loud shriek--Jae lands on the building’s roof, out of breath, hand braced against the rough stone flooring. His bike lands beside him--the Pegasus 3000, pretty snazzy for an exiled son of Zeus, if he does say so himself.

He walks over to the figure lying on the floor and pulls out his other stake from where it’s secured onto his belt, ready to make the kill, to vanquish yet another of the Nephilim scum. He raises his hand high--and then hesitates--

Because this vampire is unlike any other vampire that he’s seen before. Yes, all of the usual traits are there: the pale skin, the fangs, the ethereal beauty like they’d been carved out of marble, but there’s something else, an elevated quality to his handsomeness, a warmth to his eyes that up-close, Jae sees aren’t only raven but a bright onyx so deep they almost look liquid. That’s when it hits him. _He’s crying._

“--where did you guys put him?” The vampire asks, forcing himself to sit up before reaching a hand over to try and pull the wooden stake out of his shoulder to no avail.

“Put who?” Jae asks despite himself, kneeling now, straddling the vampire and holding him down. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Dowoon,” he says, struggling to breathe. “I--my adopted baby brother--he’s injured--I need to see him--”

“--the _wolf_?” Jae asks in disbelief. He puts a hand to the vampire’s throat. He bares his fangs, struggles against Jae’s grasp. “What the fuck is going on here? Is this a Powder Blue operation? Where are the smuggled goods? Where’s your back up hiding? Are the Blues and the Reds working together now? Is this part of another goddamn clan war?”

“No, you idiot,” the vampire says, struggling beneath him, a hand reaching for Jae’s leg, his long nails digging in until they threaten to draw blood. “I’m trying to prevent a fucking war now where the hell is Dowoon--”

Jae sucks in as his leg starts to bleed, the pain stinging. He tightens his hold on the vampire prince.

“--I wasn’t born yesterday, you asshole. I know that when they send royalty out to the hunt, there’s always back up--”

“--I ran away, okay? You have no fucking idea who I am--”

“--I have _some_ idea, _Kang Gamja._ ”

To Jae’s surprise the vampire starts laughing.

“That’s not me, genius. That’s my stepbrother. I’m Kang Younghyun--true heir to the fucking Blue Throne. They kept me in the goddamn dungeon for the past ten years and I finally busted out--Dowoon is a slave pup and he’s injured and scared is the only person I consider my fucking family. If they--the _actual_ Nephil Council--find us up here, they’ll kill both of us, kapish? And if you don’t let me go and help me find my fucking brother, I’ll tear you apart limb from limb if it means I burn at sunrise to do it.” He runs a nail down Jae’s jeans, the fabric ripping at his touch. “What’ll it be?”

Jae frowns. _None of it makes sense._ Despite himself, he glances at the vampire prince and can’t find it in him to think he’s lying. All at once it hits him just what about Kang Younghyun is so different from any other vampire that Jae’s battled, vanquished in the past--there’s kindness in his eyes, his face, the tears slipping down his cheeks at the thought of his brother.

“Fine. But after this, you give me fucking information.” With that, Jae pulls the stake out of the vampire’s shoulder. He lets out a hiss of pain but is up and on his feet before Jae can fully recover, their faces too close for a moment, the vampire prince’s dark eyes studying his own hazel ones. Jae finds himself flushing crismon, finds his heart pounding, a thrill running down his spine at the proximity of him, at the strands of his hair brushing against Jae’s cheek in the evening wind.

And then a shadow pulls them apart and Jae jolts back as another vampire lands on the roof, taking Younghyun by the throat.

“You fucking brat,” the other vampire is saying. Blunt-eared, hair tied back into a ponytail, eyes amethyst-violet. “Did you really think you and your dog were going to get away without us knowing? Without us looking for you? Gamja’s mad--”

“--I don’t give two fucks about what Gamja thinks--”

The other vampire traces the wound in Younghyun’s shoulder. Younghyun flinches, writhes in his grasp. He glances at Jae, smiles smug.

“And what do we have here? A vampire hunter? Thank you for delivering him to us, scum. Maybe King Gamja will pardon you for the death of our brethren--”

He’s cut off by Jae’s stake finding its mark in his heart. There is a shriek, a smell like something burning--and then Younghyun is free, the other vampire reduced to dust.

Younghyun looks at Jae, dumbfounded. “You helped me.”

Jae rolls his eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Jae?” Sungjin’s voice comes in through his comms. “You get the bat?”

“Fuck,” Jae says, realizing that if Sungjin had killed the wolf, they’d be in lots of danger. “Do you have the wolf? Is he safe?”

“He’s _young_ ,” Sungjin says. “Tranquilized but safe. I’m with Jamie. She wants to take him into the Pound to be assessed.”

Jae glances at Younghyun, sees a look of panic flit across his face.

“Do me a favor, will you?” Jae says into his comms. “Just--just tell Jamie we need him for the Powder Blue bust.”

“What?” Sungjin asks sharply. “But we--”

“--look,” Jae says. “Just fucking trust me for once will you? Get the wolf from Jamie and meet us in the northeast back alley, the one behind the old factory.”

“Meet _us_?” Sungjin asks, panic rising in his voice.

Jae turns off his comms, brushes off his hands and walks over to his bike, mounting it. He looks at Younghyun, staring at him in a way that looks almost dumbfounded. Jae rolls his eyes.

“Well, what are you waiting for? A fucking court order? Hop on, your highness.”

 

“I’m going to kill you,” Sungjin says. They’re in the van now, Sungjin driving, Wonpil treating a still-tranquilized Dowoon, cleaning his wounds out with antiseptic before bandaging them tight. Jae’s motorbike rattles against the roof where it’s haphazardly strapped on. “And if I don’t do it, Jamie’s going to kill you when she finds out you didn’t just _help_ a vampire, you fucking want to let it live with us--”

“--him,” Jae corrects, glancing at Younghyun. Jae puts his feet up on his shield, playing it like one would a skateboard. “He said vampire _prince._ You _know_ that ought to fucking mean something right? The fucking Blues and Reds. Powder Blue being smuggled so fast even actresses parading around Hongdae are drinking blood or trying to. That’s a lead if I fucking saw one.”

It takes all of Younghyun’s energy not to smile, not to make a joke. _Play it snide and fucking royal and snotty. It’s your only ace._ Jae is blushing, is flustered. Younghyun had felt the thump of his heart on the bike as he’d snaked an arm around his waist. And now this. Well, this is something. Younghyun looks around the van, taking everything in--he knows what Wonpil is as soon as he steps foot in the van: can smell the life, the sickly sweet scent of blood and mortality off him, but Jae and Sungjin are something else. Yes, their blood runs red, their hearts pounding, but it’s different. In Sungjin, there is a kind of darkness to his heart, a bright blueness unlike that of the vampires--a royal blue? No, a holy blue. A godly blue. And in Jae, everything feels like burnished gold, his heart hot and beating like the sun and its rays on a summer day--not that Younghyun had ever been out on a summer day. He wonders where they’re going, wonders what’ll happen when they get there.

“What makes you think they’ll help us?” Wonpil asks as he fixes the IV drip hooked up to Dowoon’s paw. The moon is still high in the sky, full and bright. “I mean--aside from the fact that you didn’t kill him--”

“--I dunno,” Jae says, his gaze meeting Younghyun’s. “Just a feeling.”

 

“Don’t you have a nickname or something?” Jae asks as they sit in the loft. Wonpil’s handed Younghyun a bag of cold blood with a straw put in for easy consumption. Younghyun’s sipping, watching Jae watching him as the wound in his shoulder closes slowly but surely. On the table nearby, Dowoon is slowly coming to, slowly morphing back into his human form as Wonpil removes his IV, as Sungjin keeps him from thrashing or biting them, repeating _you’re safe, you’re safe, your….err, brother is here._

“--you look like a Brian,” Jae says, matter of fact.

Younghyun blinks, peering over Jae’s shoulder at the different streams of data, the different charts and diagrams. “What’s a Brian?”

Jae shrugs, pulls up data on Powder Blue on his computer. “I don’t know.”

Younghyun lets out a laugh. The whole room goes quiet. None of them have ever heard a vampire laugh before--at least not if it isn't in the context of a ploy or murder or having the upperhand. Even Dowoon blinks curiously at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“What?” Younghyun asks, looking around.

“You’re acting strange, hyung,” Dowoon says, groggily standing from where he was lying on the couch and walking over to Younghyun before sitting at his feet and putting his head in Younghyun’s lap. Younghyun strokes his hair fondly. Dowoon looks up at Jae with curious eyes. “Why are you looking at my hyung that way?”

“What?” Jae asks, flustered. “What way?”

“You smell weird.” Dowoon sniffs the air before burying his nose in Younghyun’s lap.

Younghyun grins. “Dowoonie, don’t be rude. They’re trying to help us.”

“I wasn’t looking at your hyung in a _weird_ way,” Jae says, turning back to the computer, trying to avoid that sickening, swirling feeling in his stomach--that laugh had lit Younghyun’s face up, had made his perfect nose scrunch, his onyx eyes dance with light, and Jae wants to see it again. He feels lightning move up his spine: a slow zing, making the hairs on the backs of his arms stand up.  _What the fuck is happening?_ “I was just thinking about how to explain how he looks like a Brian is all.”

Younghyun grins. “You don't have to explain. You can call me Brian if you want.”

“Okay, then,” Jae says, smiling shyly. “Brian. Bri. BriBri--”

Sungjin and Wonpil exchange a glance.

Sungjin clears his throat. “--Okay, well. Kang _Brian._  Sorry if my half-brother here is having a bit of a brain short-circuit. See, his dad’s kind of a ladies man so the philandering and unconscious flirtatiousness runs in his blood--”

“--excuse me _your_ dad hangs out with dead people for a living--”

“--if you don’t mind,” Wonpil says, holding a hand up to shut both Jae and Sungjin up. “ _Brian,_ your highness, we’d really like to know what’s going on with the bats and the wolves and the Powder Blue. So many people are dying. If you need our help, we need yours too.”

“Okay,” Brian says. “You guys better sit down and have a cup of--whatever you guys drink. This is going to be a long story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter out soon. :)  
> CC/Twt: @teenuviel1227


	2. How To Be Brave?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lore here is inspired by Underworld: Rise of the Lycans, Anne Rice’s Interview With A Vampire, and the anime movie Vampire Hunter D. Also Mircalla, the countess of Karnstein is a reference to Carmilla, the novella by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu.
> 
> Twitter/CC: @teenuviel1227

It happened just before dawn on the worst night of his life--right as Younghyun had slipped into his bed chambers, had drawn the velvet drapes around his bed shut, had closed his eyes and promised to himself that things would be better when he woke at dusk, that by then he would know what to do. Only hours earlier, his father--the Blue King, descended from the One himself and birthed from Lilith, his blood pure and untainted, his years of life beyond count, beyond measure--had been found murdered, his throat slit as he sat on the throne, the murder weapon at his feet: his own moonstone scythe that he used for traitors at beheadings, its blade laced with the incurable poison gifted by Hades himself, the tonic that bound even the immortal to death. The crescent-shaped blade dripped with Blue King’s dark blood, not yet dry by the time it was found. The opalescent throne room famed for its eerie glow--moonlight trapped in the bones of their ancestors--was black with the King’s blood, thick as tar and darker than night.

It was Gamja that had told Younghyun the news, Gamja who had held his step-brother’s hand and told him not to panic even as he lead him into the throne room--as if at once warning him of the disaster and thrusting him into it. Gamja’s hand was firm on Younghyun’s nape as he whispered _they killed Father_ , _little brother--the traitors will pay. The goddamn wolves and their lust for Powder Blue._

Thinking back on it now, Younghyun thinks that he should have known, that he should have smelled the culprit right then and there, should have deduced that the scythe could only be handled by someone descended from the King himself. But in that moment, he was terrified and still naive, still ten years shy of his one-hundredth night cycle. In that moment, Younghyun found himself overcome by grief, had let Gamja tell him what to do--despite the fact that his birth was less than honorable, his mother being from another coven in the grasslands across the sea that had no noble blood, Gamja had always been the stronger of the two of them in terms of battle and strategy, brute strength and will.

It was Gamja who had always had to fight to be kept in the ranks, rising through force and prestige in battle until he was the most powerful General of the Blue Army, until he stood sentry at the throne and rode right of their father’s Night Mare on raids and hunts--ink-black, its fuel the blood of their enemies, all of its trappings carved from bone and coated in obsidian, willed into life by death. It was Gamja who’d had to earn the Kang name, who’d had to justify the blunt taper of his ears, the almost ruddy brown of his eyes.

Younghyun had been the Crown Prince for as long as he could remember, had lived his life more concerned with history and theory, the legacy and magic of his people, had expected to be handed the Kingdom upon his father’s moonset, had never thought about the throne being _taken_ , had not for a moment contemplated it was possible for it to be snatched from his grasp. He’d grown up his father’s precious son, his mother Mircalla, the Countess of Karnstein herself, who’d not just bore him a son of noble blood but _refused_ her place as Queen because she had, in her words, no time or energy to spare for all of that nonsense. Younghyun was a jewel to be kept safe, was left behind on most raids except those his father was sure they would come back safe from. Most nights, he was allowed only to use his practice in projection and illusion, his projection allowed to ride alongside them, but himself kept in the palace.

Younghyun was the diamond in the rough: polished and perfected.

Gamja was a knife in the darkness--sharpened and wielded at will.

Gamja had told him to rest so that they could think about what to do the following evening, so that they could organize an investigation, maybe call on the Scryers from their faction in Daejeon to set up mirrors of truth, had let him drink milk of the poppy until Younghyun was groggy, his eyelids heavy with want of dreamless sleep and the illusion of peace. He hadn’t so much lain his bed on the pillow when he felt the point of a poisoned blade at his throat, felt cool breath against his ear.

“Traitor.” It was the voice of Dang-geun, Gamja’s first lieutenant, how hovering over him, holding him against the bed frame in a chokehold. “You have been requested in the Room of Dawn.”

“Un-hand me--” Younghyun had pushed at him, had slapped him back with all of his might, had sent him flying across the room, his blade clattering onto the floor. Younghyun watched with disgust as Dang-geun got up, his ponytail coming loose, his lip splitting from the impact against the wood. “--do you know who you’re talking to, Kim Dang-geun? I will not be disrespected like this in my own goddamn chambers. My father just died for fuck’s sake--”

“--oh yes. Yes, we all know what you’ve done, brother.” With that, the doors to his chambers flung open, the drapes on his bed swinging apart with a flick of Gamja’s hand. Gamja strode in with the King’s Guard at his back, swords and guns drawn. “Now, come and be heard, be tried in the Room of Dawn--”

Younghyun hesitated, not quite sure what to make of this picture: his brother, only moments before kind and reassuring, now holding him at gunpoint, threatening him with a burning.

“--but--you know I didn’t do it. I wasn’t even in there--I was in the Library studying--”

“--we all know that for years your field of study has been in lore and illusion, in trickery and plights of the mind.” Gamja fixed his gaze on Younghyun, then, and in their rust-brown, their almost-red glint, Younghyun knew what had happened, Younghyun realized how easily he’d been played, had walked into the trap. “We found the cup behind father’s throne.”

“The cup?” Younghyun asked stupidly, his mind fuzzy from the milk of the poppy.

“You let him drink Milk of the Poppy--we all know he trusted you with his life when it came to matters of science and lore, magic and tonics. You let him drink until his defenses whittled away. The cup was reeking of your magic. You can conjure illusions all you like but magic prints don’t lie. And once he was--”

“-- _you_ made me drink the Milk, you goddamn liar--”

“--men,” Gamja said, nodding toward him. “Shackle him and take him to the Room of Dawn. I will preside over this trial myself.”

  


The Room of Dawn was a circular chamber, half of it concealed in shadow, the other half in the direct path of the sunroof draped with heavy curtains that could be drawn back at a moment’s notice. The jurors--Gamja, Dang-geun, and to Younghyun’s horror, the Library Maester, Mung--sat in the shadows while Younghyun was shackled directly under the sunroof, arms held up and apart with hot, copper cuffs which burned his skin, his gauzy white bed clothes torn from resisting, his knees sore from being made to kneel. Behind the Jurors, in the audience chamber, sat all of the members of the court--noble vampires, Younghyun’s relatives, representatives from other covens who’d come to renegotiate contracts at notice of the King’s death.

Younghyun was breathing hard, the grogginess from the Milk of the Poppy wearing hard on his consciousness. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the most unusual thing: in the audience chamber, off to the side, concealed in the shadows, were two werewolves, their faces concealed under the hoods of dark cloaks. Younghyun wondered why they’d been taken here without any formal notice to the court and kingdom, wondered why no one was attacking them when the room reeked of their wet fur, reeked of the Earth from the mountains surrounding Seoul.

Gamja cleared his throat. The entire hall fell silent.

“Members of the royal court, fastidious ambassadors from our allies in the night, and of course, our esteemed guests--” he nodded toward the werewolves in the audience. “It is my unfortunate duty as the last remaining honorable son of the Blue King, often named Bluebeard the Cruel, Night-Taker, Grim Reaper, the Knight of Death, and birthed by the night, the One Nephil as Kang Taejo the First, Keeper of the Moon, Guardian of Bones and Ruler on the Blue Throne, to officially announce my father’s death--and the treachery and treason of my brother, once-Crown Prince Kang Younghyun, Son of the Crescent Moon, newly-named Maester of the Magic Arts.”

A hush went through the room.

Younghyun watched in horror as every eye fixed on him--faces of people he knew, people he’d trained under, their expressions full of scorn, anger. Younghyun looked at the wolves, their smiles showing even under their hoods. He looked around, looking for a way to escape, a way to get free. All the doors were locked, enchanted to stay shut until the trial was over--he could _smell_ the time magic from the paste they’d ground and painted onto them. One of the guards stood by him, ready to pull the drapes open at any time. Even with the heavy curtains closed tight, Younghyun could feel the threat of the sun bearing down on him, could feel the heavy heat coming in through the fabric.

For the first time in his life, Younghyun was truly afraid. For the first time in his life he was angry.

“You’ll pay for this, Gamja, you fucking traitor--”

“--shut up, brat.” Gamja said, nodding at the guard, who lashed Younghyun with a whip. Pain seared through his back, his chest. Black blood bled out, soaking his white shirt. “Here to testify for us are Lieutenant Dang-geun, who said that he saw you walk into the throne room moments before Father was killed--”

“--it’s true,” Dang-geun said, a snide smile on his lips. “I saw him enter but did not see him leave. It is my suspicion that the prince used his illusory powers to escape after he had slit the King’s throat.”

“That’s not how it works, you idiot,” Younghyun spat. “Illusions can’t _hold things_ . They’re illusions for fuck’s sake. Haven’t you guys ever seen a _projector_ \--”

“--silence, traitor.” Gamja’s voice boomed through the hall. Younghyun spat blood as the whip hit him across the chest, the tip grazing his cheek. “You claimed you were at the Library when the murder took place, but Maester Mung, your mentor and keeper of the books, said he saw you conjure a charm, said it is possible that it might have been your illusion at the library while you killed our father with your own hand.”

Maester Mung stood, then, refusing to meet Younghyun’s eye. Younghyun felt tears prickle at his eyes. _Why, Maester?_ _What did they threaten you with?_ When he spoke, his voice was quiet, trembling.

“It is true I have known Younghyun to be very capable at magic and the dark arts. I have seen him more than once conjure himself into being at the library whilst he slipped out to his chambers or to the dining hall--”

“--Maester--”

In his head, Younghyun heard his mentor’s voice, a soft warning, a plea.

_Do as they say, Younghyun. This is bigger than you or I. Your cruel brother will not burn you if you don’t resist._

_Why are you doing this?_

_It is for the good of the Kingdom. One day, you will avenge your birthright and your father but first, we must survive. Say nothing. Gamja will want to seem merciful._

“--thank you, Maester,” Gamja said. “For your honesty. Now, what shall we do to my traitorous brother? Burn him perhaps? Let the dawn eat through his cruel bones?”

The crowd cheered.

Younghyun frowned, felt the fight go out of him, felt his arms go slack in their shackles, the weight of him weighing on his knees.

“No,” Gamja said, shaking his head. “As your new King, a title I reluctantly take upon myself, I will show him mercy. Instead, we will lock him in the dungeon! With an even more special punishment--”

Whispering rushed through the crowd, the sound of it echoing off the walls.

“--you see, before my Father was killed, he was working on a treaty with the wolves--”

The room burst with protests, from the mingled murmur phrases such as _fucking dogs_ and _uncouth mongrels_ leaping out.

“--I understand your worry,” Gamja said, holding a hand up. “But the wolves have offered us a truce, peace, a business deal. As we all know, mortals have paid their share for Powder Blue--”

“--that is _our_ treasure, Gamja.” One of the nobles spoke up. “It is not for mortals or for dogs.”

“Yes, I understand,” Gamja said, nodding. “But where do we get the obsidian pestles which we use to grind the moonstone into powder? Where do we get the money supplies with which we take the bones of our ancestors and set it into the strength of our fortress? No one, not even vampires, not even we who are descended from the Nephilim, are beyond the constraints of economy. Powder Blue gets us ins everywhere: the most powerful businesses, the biggest political regimes. It buys us perks and perks are power in this day and age. What are a few tons of Powder Blue for power and prestige? For long enough, they have told us that hunting animals is a substitute for that very thing that makes us vampires. Doctors have traded us bags of stale blood and sold it to us as though we were lucky to have them--when it is they who are lucky we don’t pillage their streets and drink them dry. They are fools for adrenaline. It makes them believe they are immortal, strips away their fear. And the wolves have promised us distribution, have promised us the ability to gather at least a party of thirty every fortnight on which we may feed, whom we may hunt--”

“--father would never approve that--”

“--you moralist scum,” Gamja said. Another lash of the whip hits Younghyun’s back. “Is that why you murdered him? Because you believed he was doing the wrong thing?”

_Silence is a virtue, Younghyun._

Younghyun keeps quiet.

“I thought so,” Gamja said. “Now I know we are all uneasy to work with the wolves. The Red and Blue Kingdoms have long been at war. But they offer us a hostage, a precious prize for our cooperation.”

With that, the wolves in the audience stood and Younghyun noticed who--what--they were holding, carrying between them. A young werewolf, barely five years old, struggling against the ropes that bound him, snarling albeit being in his human form.

“Behold, Yoon Dowoon, the Son of the Blood Moon,” Gamja said, voice booming. The crowd began to whisper louder, the doubt beginning to whittle away. “For those unfamiliar with wolf lore, once every two thousand years, a wolf is born under the solstice of the Blood Moon. He is to grow the biggest, the strongest of the wolves, and is the only one who will be able to retain his human will in his animal state. The tell-tale signs: one eye green, the other brown, the crest of Remus on his back.”

With that, the wolves spun Dowoon around, holding up his long hair so the crowd could see the mark under his skin: a crescent moon, blood-red.

“For peace, they give us their most powerful wolf to shackle and bind, to weaken as we see fit. What say you, elders? Friends? Guests?”

The crowd cheers. A thrill of horror runs down Younghyun’s spine at the thought of all of the people who would walk willingly to their deaths, at the thought of Powder Blue gurgling in their veins, of the wolfling suffering at the hands of Gamja.

“Very well,” Gamja said, pleased with himself. “And because I am merciful, my brother will not burn here today. He will be locked up in the dungeous, made to serve a fate worse than death--guardian to the wolf-monster, servant to the servant we take as a token for peace.”

Younghyun met Gamja’s eye.

Gamja grinned, wide.

Maester Mung’s voice. _Calm down, Younghyun._

Younghyun, no longer caring who or what overheard what he was thinking.

_I will make you pay, Kang Gamja. If it’s the last thing I do._

  


“Holy fucking shit,” Jae says as Brian finishes telling his story. He looks at Dowoon, who is currently napping on Brian’s lap, a hand curled protectively around Brian’s waist. “ _This_ is the most powerful wolf in the entire world? Are we sure about that?”

Brian laughs, ruffles Dowoon’s hair. “In the flesh. Dowoonie is the only reason I’m still alive. I’m--well, I wasn’t really a fighter. And the kinds of vampires in that dungeon, I’m telling you. If he hadn’t clawed half of them blind, I would be moondust by now.”

“You have to let go of some of that anger,” Wonpil says quietly. His eyes are lighter brown, now, their pupils illuminated, blown wide, and Jae can tell that he’s scrying Brian’s mind. To Jae’s surprise, Brian grins at Wonpil.

“You scry incredibly well for a mortal.” Brian tilts his head inquisitively, frowning as though trying to put his finger on something. “What _are_ you? Human, but not _just._ Mortal--and yet--”

Wonpil grins secretively. “--that’s a story for another time. It’s been a long night.”

Jae smiles despite himself, watching as Sungjin takes Wonpil’s hand under the table, giving it a squeeze as their fingers interlace. _Disgusting but cute as fuck, I’ll give these two that._

“So, what’s the plan?” Jae asks, taking his feet off the desk and turning back to his monitor. “What do we _do_ to avenge BriBri the Scorned, first of his name, and king of the Andals or whatever here and catch these assholes selling Powder Blue? Because they lied to you, BriBri. They aren’t taking people every damn fortnight. They’re doing it weekly now. More than sixty disappearances in the Seoul-Incheon radius alone over the past two weeks. But they’re being very selective: usually people who’ve done Powder Blue countless times before, people with families living far away, people who won’t be missed, people with no power to investigate.”

“I need the scythe,” Brian says, his gaze serious. “It’s feared in the vampire world because it can kill, yes, but also because it can cut through time and space, through plot and feeling and other mortal concerns. It can end a life, a spell, a storyline. You name it.”

Sungjin snorts. “Fucking scythes. Not to be bitter but when you’re Hades’ son, it gets kind of old. I told him he should issue licenses but you know these stupid old gods. _Of course_ he would give the damn Nephilim one. It wasn’t enough that he was a workaholic, he had to be an irresponsible arms dealer too.”

“I’ve never met Hades but I hear he throws a good party.” Brian grins.

Sungjin shrugs. “How do you think they get people to cross the River Styx? Partay.”

“Or they put a handsome sentry on the other bank?” Wonpil jokes, nudging Sungjin playfully.

Sungjin rolls his eyes but can’t stop smiling. “Do you think Gamja’s using the scythe to cut through metaphysical things? Is that how they’re smuggling everything so smoothly?”

Brian shakes his head. “Gamja should have killed me--”

“--hold up,” Jae says. “Let’s not get hasty. I mean, sure you’re kind of weird but--”

“--because that scythe is bound to me,” Brian says, grinning at the flush creeping onto Jae’s cheeks. _Why does he keep doing that?_ “I was the heir to the Blue Throne. It was all I prepared for for nearly a hundred years. Other kingdoms have crowns. We have a scythe and a seat. On my eighty-eight birthday, my father and I performed the binding ceremony: to ensure that no one else could steal it. Of course, Gamja would have nothing to do with that--it’s twelve nights of chanting, of calling upon the forces of death, of sitting in a state of dead silence, of asking and then ordering the steel and the bone and stone to bind itself to your lifeline. He can physically wield the scythe because he is my father’s son, but he can only cut throats, flesh. He can’t use it to its full potential.”

“And what do you plan to do with that scythe once you get it?” Wonpil asks.

“You said it yourself,” Brian says, grinning. “Cut away the anger that I feel eating at me everyday.”

“Hopefully you can lop off the heads of some no-good bats and mongrel mutt scum too?” Jae asks. “Because that’s what we need right now. Jamie’s breathing down our necks. She looks tiny but that girl is _terrifying_ when she’s mad. What the hell do you guys even _use_ Powder Blue for, anyway?”

Brian smiles, embarrassed. If he could blush, he would. If he had a pulse, it would race.

“Mortals use it to feel like they won’t ever die, to find courage, strength. Vampires use it for--mating purposes. You see, the reason it’s so potent is that we need a lot to feel alive, to get us _going_ , if you catch my drift. When Vampires mate, when they attempt to create life, it takes a lot of trying because we are born of death and darkness. Only two things do it: drinking fresh human blood, which requires too great a sacrifice, and Powder Blue, which is ground so fine that it contains all the energy and potency of metal, a mimicry of lifeblood.”

“Oh.” Jae’s face is the color of an apple now. “Great. Risking our lives and the lives of others for Vampire Viagra. That’s awesome.”

The smell of Jae’s blood rushing up toward the surface of his pale skin makes Brian’s stomach churn, brings a tingle and want under his cool skin that he hasn’t felt this intensely in his life. He does his best to stifle it but his fingers pierce through the fabric of the couch as he claws at the cushion.

“Well,” Sungjin says. “It’s settled. We help Brian get the scythe, he helps us bring in the fucking scumbag smugglers.”

Dowoon blinks, eyes opening lazily. “We just ran away from the palace, why are we going _back_?”

Brian pats Dowoon’s hair. “We’ll plan, first, Dowoonie. We’ve got a bit of time. Do you want to sleep out here?”

Dowoon nods, drifting off again. “It’s breezy here.”

“Dowoonie likes to sleep out in the open. He likes sunshine. Being locked in a dungeon for ten years’ll do that to you.”

“Well,” Sungjin says. “He’s welcome to make that couch his bed for the time being. Let’s call it a night. The sun’s almost up and because this is a firehouse the only room with curtains is Jae’s room.”

“What--” Jae begins to protest.

“--he’s anxious and can’t sleep. The tiniest bit of sunlight wakes him up,” Sungjin tells Brian.

Brian grins. “I’ve half a mind to take you home with me. You’d fit right in.”

Jae’s heart skips a beat. _What the fuck. Stop that._

Brian bites back a smile at the sound. _Is that what blushing means?_

“And you think I’m going to sleep well with a _vampire_ in my room?” He asks Sungjin pointedly.

“Well,” Wonpil says slowly. “You could sleep in me and Sungjin’s room but I can tell you right now, you’ll enjoy that a whole lot less. It’s a whole lot noisier--”

“--gross.” Jae sighs, nodding toward his room. “Fine, I’ll sleep with bat prince. But I swear to god, if you make any noise, I’ll kill you.”

Brian grins. “Deal.”

  


“Go to _sleep,_ ” Brian says, throwing a pillow at Jae. He’s been lying awake in Jae’s bed for the past hour or so. He can feel the sun beating outside Jae’s blackout curtains, rising high in the sky. Every bone in Brian’s body aches with exhaustion. He wants to sleep the longed-for sleep of the dead--but Jae is _still_ talking.  

“Look, _Dad,_ I just don’t see myself serving on fucking Olympus for the rest of my fucking life, marrying some stupid nymph and I dunno, riding the Pegasus around delivering metal for Hephaestus alright? I want to actually _do_ something. For fuck’s sake, even that dolt Percy Jackson got to do something with his life. Actually, forget Poseidon. Even Uncle Hades let Sungjin do something fun and I know you’re both still bitter about the he-stole-your-dead-girlfriend thing but _we_ got over it, Mom got over it, and you guys need to get over it too--”

Brian sits up, peering over to look at Jae, his curiosity getting the better of him. _He’s sleep talking._

“--there, there. It’s okay,” Brian tries, nudging at Jae’s foot with his own. He’d read somewhere that mortals often manifest troubles in odd behavior like this--it was probably the human in Jae, the part of him that did things like that. “You made the right choice. Your father’s not mad. No one wants you to...uhhh marry a nymph.”

Jae frowns, turns around, and, to Brian’s surprise, throws a leg over him, holding Brian tight, resting his head on Brian’s chest as he curls around him. _He thinks I’m a pillow._ Jae is warm, so warm, smells so damn good, Brian feels his skin heating up, feels that desire rising in him, feels the want to taste--even just a _drop_ , just a trickle--and knowing that it would never be enough, knowing that that would drive him mad, would make him pry Jae open and thrust into him until both of them were spent. He feels a flush of embarrassment at the thought. _Get a hold of yourself. You just met him._

Brian thinks of the act of having sex--of copulating, what it takes for their people. The bruising, the blood, the torn fabric, the exhaustion of after.

_I would break him. I’d never put him through that._

Instead, Brian settles for what he thinks is a humane gesture, and hugs Jae back, settles for stroking his hair the way he found Dowoon liked when he was having a nightmare.

“Goodnight,” Jae mumbles.

“Goodmorning.”

And Brian lets himself slip into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will go up later today. :)


	3. Heart Beats Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter next week.
> 
> Twitter/CC: @teenuviel1227

“Jae, do you copy?” Sungjin’s voice comes in through Jae’s comms. “Do you see them? Those motherfuckers walking into the warehouse?” 

Jae shifts his weight from where he’s perched on the rooftop. He can see everything from here: six vampires, hauling two cases of what he suspects is Powder Blue. 

“Yeah. Six bats, twelve cases. What do you see on your end?”

“Wolves are driving the trucks. There’s a crest on their bumpers, I took a photo. My memory’s fuzzy but if I remember correctly, that’s the NugCorp logo--one-hundred percent dog money. There are four more bats on this side of street. Two bags strapped to their backs, two more hand-held. What the fuck are they doing?” 

“It’s Powder Blue,” Brian says from where he’s leaning against the overhang, eyes half-closed, his hair blowing in the wind. “I can smell it in the wind. This is the good stuff too. Usually they use granite as an extender when they sell it to mortals. My Maester was working on regulating the sale of it before the siege--this stuff is pure, maybe even luxe. Moonstone, obsidian--a sprinkle of something else.” 

Through the comms, Dowoon lets out a low grunt. “I hate how that stuff smells. It makes me wanna throw up.” 

“Calm down, kid,” Sungjin says. “When we’re in there, you can vomit on everyone all you want.”

“Have you called Jamie?” Jae asks. “This is a lot more than we’re used to.”

“Yup,” Wonpil says through Jae’s in-ear monitor. “They’re far away enough not to be detected. I only hope they get here in time when we need them.” 

“What’s the plan, baby bro?” Jae asks, grinning as he counts his stakes, newly replenished--four in the leg holsters, two under his jacket.

“Call me that again and I’ll kill you.” 

“Right,” Jae says jokingly. “You and your dad are good at that.” 

“You kill the vamps, I’ll wrangle the wolves, leave the Powder Blue to the cops.” 

“I’ll let you guys know if there are any notable things about the vampires, if any of them are familiar,” Brian offers.

Jae nods. “Sounds like a plan. What about Dowoon and Pil?”

“Pil--well, you know--Pil stays in the van--”

“--Sungjin, I can do it. If you guys need help, I can--”

“--keyword  _ if _ ,” Sungjin snaps in a tone all of them means  _ it’s done.  _ “Dowoon rides with me.” 

“Got it.” Jae says. “See you in there.”

In the distance, they hear another bike rev up, take off--from the corner of his eye, Jae watches Sungjin’s black CerberusX take off from the sidestreet where the van is parked. He nods, meets Brian’s gaze. 

“Shall we?” Jae gets on his bike.

Brian grins, the moonlight lighting up his eyes, his pale skin. Jae watches as Brian walks toward him--Wonpil’s lent him some holsters, a couple of pistols with sharpened wooden bullets made from the same materials as Jae’s stake strapped to his thighs. Jae’s lent Brian his shield, thinks it looks good on Brian’s broader frame, the straps sitting tight on his shoulders. His heart does that jumpy thing that he’s gotten a little more used to now, about a week and a half in, as Brian gets on the bike behind him, arms coming around Jae’s waist. 

“Aim true, BriBri,” Jae says, revving the engine. 

“Got it.” 

With that, Brian tosses the shield into the air and Jae thinks _ stretch _ and the steel arches long as Jae hits the gas and they go up and off--zooming through the sky. As they jump off the shield-cum-ramp, Brian’s fingers meet the edge of the metal and he pulls, the steel forming back into a disc that he locks onto the holster on his back with a click. Brian’s arms tighten around Jae’s waist, the evening wind whipping through their hair as they sail through the air. Jae grins. Brian leans in closer, unable to resist getting just a little bit closer, to feel some of that warmth as they go for the drop. They land abrupt but smooth, the Pegasus’s wheels screeching as they meet the asphalt. 

Jae makes a couple of figures eight, spending momentum, and then aiming them toward the garage door. Jae grins, feeling Brian tense behind him, feeling Brian’s lips almost graze his nape when he speaks. 

“Say when.” Brian’s got a hand poised to pull the shield out, the other ready to draw his gun from its holster. 

Jae lets out a laugh, feeling the adrenaline run like lightning through his veins. 

“Let’s get it.” 

And then Brian is throwing the shield in front of them frisbee-style and Jae thinks  _ sharp _ \--it shatters the warehouse door and they ride in on full speed, Brian pulling his gun out with one hand and catching the shield with the other, locking it back in place. Jae does turns around the three vampires closest to the door, hitting two with his longer stakes. 

Brian takes a couple out with his guns, the wooden bullets sizzling as they meet vampire flesh. 

He grins.

“Three down, seven more to go.”

“A piece of fuckin’ pie.” 

They ride full-speed ahead across the warehouse.  

  
  


Sungjin rides into the parking lot at top speed, unlocking his crossbow and loading it with three regular bolts from the built-in trigger in his sleeve. He fires all three as they drive by, the black bike quick as night. The front tires on all three trucks go out, losing air. Sungjin makes a turn right before the entrance. He reloads his crossbow, this time the bolts tipped with a heavy tranquilizer.

He can hear Dowoon growling behind him as the drivers peer out at them. 

“They might transform--” Dowoon’s tone is worried, cautious.

“--stand down,” Sungjin says firmly. “Save your strength. We just need to put them under--we just need information.” 

Dowoon continues to snarl but obeys.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” One of the wolves says, stepping down from the truck. He cracks his jaw, tosses his cap on the ground. “You messed with the wrong goddamn wolves--”

“--on the contrary,” Sungjin says grinning. “I think I’ve got just the three I need.” 

With that, he fires the first shot. It hits the first wolf and he goes down. 

“Dowoon, the rope--”

They ride forward, Dowoon releasing the rope that hooks onto the first wolf’s jacket. 

“--step off, scum,” The second wolf says, stepping directly in front of the bike, pistol aimed at Sungjin and Dowoon. 

He fires.

Sungjin angles the bike sideward, they skid slanted so that their knees are just short of kissing the asphalt. The bullet misses and the wolf jerks backward as Sungjin aims and shoots a tranquilizer that hits him in the leg. He falls back against the truck with a clang. Sungjin pulls them right-side-up and Dowoon releases the second cable, hooking into the back of the man’s shirt. 

“Gotcha, motherfuckers.”

Sungjin doesn’t waste time on the last wolf, goes full speed ahead, is caught off guard when he transforms, his snout growing long, muscles tearing through his shirt, his back arching until it curves, more beast than man, his mouth pulling back into a big, snarling, dog-toothed grin--he’s reddish brown, medium-sized, not huge but lithe, quick. 

It’s too late for Sungjin to switch bolts. 

“Fuck.” Sungjin skids to a stop, fires the last tranquilizer but misses as the wolf jumps out of range. Before he knows what’s happening, Dowoon’s leapt up and off the bike, transforming in mid-air--it isn’t the way he’d transformed nights ago, injured and starving, weak from exhaustion. This time Dowoon is large and gray, broad-backed, the emblem on his back glowing red. He lets out a long, loud howl and the other wolf hesitates, as if confused. Dowoon charges, taking the other wolf by the neck, his fangs red as blood oozes from his neck. Dowoon throws him against the side of the wall which cracks from the impact. 

Sungjin is left in awe for a moment before he recovers, riding to pick up the tails of rope where Dowoon left them and wrangling up the two tranquilized wolves, securing the ropes with silver locks to keep them from transforming. 

“You okay?” Wonpil’s voice comes in through the comms. 

“Yeah,” Sungjin says, blinking as Dowoon transforms back into his human form, albeit shirtless now. It catches him off guard how innocent Dowoon looks like this--how young, how innocent, when just a few moments before he’d been rabid and snarling. “Yeah, Dowoon killed one of them but we’ve got two to take in for questioning.”

“Jae? Brian?”

“We’re fine,” Jae’s voice comes in breathless through the comms. “Ten out of ten dead. I think you can call Jamie for back-up now.” 

  
  


“You  _ know _ I’m going to kill you right?” Jamie says as they sit in the police station, waiting for the wolves to come to for questioning. She shakes her head, glaring at Jae. “You took a  _ vampire _ \--a runaway nonetheless--from my crime scene without telling me--”

“--if I  _ told  _ you,” Jae says. “Would you have let me?”

“Well,” Jamie says, frowning as she looks up at the giant board of cut-outs, crime scene photos, graphs, and charts over which long strings of blue, red, and yellow stretch. “No. We hired you as a Vampire  _ Hunter _ for a reason. It says Park Jaehyung, V.H. and not Park Jaehyung, Vampire Babysitter--”

“--okay, first of all, Brian is not a baby, he is a vampire  _ prince _ ,” Jae says. “And he knows stuff about Powder Blue. He’s an asset! And we got you the wolf witnesses, didn’t we?” 

Jamie frowns. “Why is his name Brian? I thought it was Kang Younghyun?”

“He just looks like one.” Jae grins. “Doesn’t he? Like a BriBri?”

“Jae,” Jamie says, a look of knowing coming over her face. She sighs, a hand coming to smooth out the crease between her brows. “Oh, come  _ on,  _ Jae. Of all people to develop a crush on--”

“--psshhhh,” Jae says. “I do  _ not  _ have a crush. Stop being unprofessional. You’re  _ Detective _ Park Jimin and not  _ Love Doctor  _ Park Jimin for a reason. Now, will you let us have the funding or not? We have a plan. It’s a full-on operation: we go to the vamp palace, get his scythe, overthrow an empire, get your Powder Blue or destroy it trying, hand in the bandits behind this whole operation--”

“--do you  _ know _ what a syndicate ring is, Jae?” Jamie asks, her face dead-serious now. “They aren’t going to just let you walk in there. If I let you do this, you’re going to get in trouble with people who have ins in big corporations--we’re talking  _ Kang  _ Corporation here. These aren’t delinquent bats, they’re the big bosses. They know people in the fucking government. You’re going to be risking your lives--”

“--I know,” Jae says. “But are you really okay with losing what, thirty? Thirty-five lives on average a week? And you talk about Kang Corp--well, sorry to break it to you, but Kang Corp rightfully belongs to Brian--”

“--Younghyun--”

“--it’s  _ Brian _ . And we’re going whether you give us the funding or not,” Jae says, lips pressed into a tight line. “Are you really going to let your best friends die trying to help you do your job?”

Jamie sighs, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Who says you’re my best friends?”    
  


 

“Wow,” Wonpil says, eyes wide as they walk into the military-grade van that Jamie’s gotten for them. “Oh my god. It self-drives. Oh my god, it even has hangars for the bikes and an off-ramp and a kitchen--oh, but--only one bedroom--Jamie--”

“--oh come  _ on _ ,” Jamie says. “You guys are going to be exhausted and elbow-deep in murder anyway, so do you guys really have any time to do anything nasty?” 

Sungjin grins. “The God of the Underworld is my father. Murder doesn’t exhaust me.” 

Jae touches one of the metal blinds. “Fancy but a bit of light still peeks through. You don’t want Brian to burn alive do you--”

“--we can always cover it,” Brian offers. “We can take the curtains from our room--”

Jamie shoots Jae a pointed look, mouths  _ our _ room?

Jae rolls his eyes. 

“I could destroy this entire van if I transformed,” Dowoon says, grinning. He puts a hand on the countertop. “Boom, countertop,  _ destroyed. _ ”

He touches the storage units above the sink. “Cabinets,  _ demolished _ .”

Jamie clicks her tongue. “Fine. We’ll find another truck with two rooms and...a higher ceiling? Maybe just keep you guys’ baby wolf from going apeshit, okay? Anyway, let’s move onto weapons."

They follow Jamie from the holding unit into a different room where select weapons have been drawn up, are lying in light-up casing. 

“Listen to me carefully when I explain because if any of you accidentally harm yourselves, I am  _ not  _ taking responsibility for that. And if you lose any of these, I am never talking to you ever again, I don’t care how good a lead you guys have. Got it?” 

“Got it,” Jae says, doing a tiny mock-salute.

“Fine,” Sungjin replies, rolling his eyes. 

“What’s this?” Wonpil asks, reaching out to touch a small, red dart. 

“Don’t--” Jamie catches Wonpil’s wrist just in time. “--that’s for Sungjin. It’s a dart tipped with extremely powerful poison that keeps wolves from transforming for at least a good hour. It’s lethal to regular humans.”

“Oh.” 

Jamie walks over to one of the longer cases, lifting what looks like a black rod made of dark steel. He tosses it at Brian, who catches it on instinct. 

“This one’s for Prince of Darkness over there. Jae told us you use a scythe. Hit that blue button--”

Brian does as he’s told and a curved blade ejects from the top end. Brian grins as he swipes it through the air, does a couple of fancy tricks. 

“Nice.”

“--it isn’t moonstone but it’s an obsidian-steel hybrid that ought to do for clobbering people, cutting through bones and flesh, that kind of thing.” Jamie does a quick runthrough of a couple of other weapons. “These are your standard-issue silver nitrate, agardwood-loaded pistols, a couple of regular revolvers. We’ve also got a couple of ghost traps-- _ just in case _ . You never know on missions like these what you’ll encounter and if there’s anything remotely interesting, we need you to take it back to the lab. Jae, are you still having trouble accidentally burning yourself with your own lightning bolts?”

“No,” Jae rolls his eyes, glances quickly at Brian, hopes he hasn’t heard. “ _ Jeez,  _ Jamie. That hasn’t happened in  _ forever--” _

“--you mean two months? I’ll keep the micro-insulator gloves in here for you.  _ Just in case.” _ Jamie walks over to a couple of smaller display cases, picks up what looks like a pair of hoop earrings. “Wonpil, these are for you--”

“--jewelry?”

“Energy harnesses,” Jamie replies. “We know you have a problem with the astral link. This has silver, jade, and turquoise melded into the steel. Think of them as an AVR for your soul. It’ll stabilize your energy, help you reel yourself back in if push comes to shove--”

“--you astral project?” Brian asks, turning to Wonpil. “Why didn’t you tell me when I told you about--”

“--like I said,” Wonpil says, taking the earrings from Jamie and slipping them on. “It’s a long story.” 

“--I see,” Brian says, frowning, still unsure what to make of it. “Tell me that long story one of these days.” 

Wonpil grins. “If we make it out alive.” 

“ _ When _ ,” Sungjin corrects him, flicking the shell of his ear fondly. He’s smiling but his eyes aer serious, his gaze not leaving Wonpil’s face. “ _ When  _ we make it out alive.”

  
  


That night, Wonpil and Sungjin lie awake in bed, both of them thinking about the night just past, both of them wondering about the days to come--everything that they’re going to have to go through. Wonpil grins, turns to face Sungjin in the blue dark. He smiles as he sees that Sungjin’s eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes serious, his lips pursed with worry.

“What are you worrying about  _ now _ ?” Wonpil asks softly, planting a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

“You.” Sungjin smiles softly, the crease between his brows easing for now. “As usual. It’s always you.” 

“Stop that,” Wonpil says, frowning. “I told you, I’m fine. The projection doesn’t hurt as much anymore--I--it’s alright, okay--we don’t even have to do it unless push comes to shove and Jamie gave me those earring things--” 

“--you know what I thought when I first saw you, standing there in that boat, being ferried over to my end of the river?” Sungjin whispers, his fingertips tracing Wonpil’s face--his cheeks, his lips--and coming to rest on his nape, ruffling the soft hair there. 

“He’s so handsome? I totally need to whisk him away? Literally sweep him off his feet?”

Sungjin shakes his head, chuckling a little. “You were glowing. Your soul was this iridescent golden-pink, like the sunrise--and even then, you were laughing, saying something to comfort the scared souls in the boat with you. And when you looked at me--for the first time,  _ life _ appealed to me. Life outside the underworld, life that wasn’t just going through my everyday routine. The kind of life that could hurt--that would be worth the pain--”

Sungjin puts a hand over Wonpil’s heart, feels relief at the steady heartbeat that greets his palm. 

“--you didn’t belong there. You belonged to life, deserved to live--” 

“--sometimes I feel bad about it,” Wonpil whispers softly, a tear slipping down his cheek. 

Sungjin wipes it away softly with his thumb, planting a soft, warm kiss on Wonpil’s lips. 

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” Wonpil grins fondly. “Obviously, I don’t feel bad about the being alive again part, about the falling so madly in love with you I don’t know what to do with myself--I’m grateful for that. But I just--I cost you so much. The exile, the stripping of your power, the having to hunt wolves for the rest of your life. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll make this life worth your while.” 

“You already have,” Sungjin says, resting a hand on Wonpil’s cheek. “You do every moment that you’re alive.”

They lie in silence for a moment, both of them thinking about that journey they’d made from the underworld--Wonpil waif-like and faint in Sungjin’s arms, flickering like a light as Sungjin pried apart the barrier between life and death with his bare hands, as he lifted them both up into the world of the living and they both began to  _ breathe. _

“Will your father ever forgive you?” Wonpil traces small figure-eights on Sungjin’s chest.

“Only if I handed you over,” Sungjin says, pulling Wonpil in closer. “And I’m never going to do that.” 

  
  


“Alright,” Jae says, loading the computer into the gigantic van that Jamie’s gotten them--as promised, two rooms, higher ceilings, bullet-proof, light-resistant blinds, all the trappings. “That’s the last of it.” 

They’re parked across the street, the thing too big to fit in the cramped firehouse garage alongside all of their other things--the van, their junk equipment stripped and used for parts. Jamie is reading the rules and regulations off of a list: no re-setting passwords, a daily report of activities and suspicious activity has to be sent in to the bureau, the only exception being in case of battle. And even then, after battle, a complete list of adversaries is to be made. 

“Yes, Mom,” Jae jokes, taking the list from Jamie before she finishes reading and signing it on the spot. “There. All good.” 

Jamie rolls her eyes. “Lastly, all the coordinates that Brian has given us have been plugged into the GPS. I’d suggest keeping someone up at night or during the day or whenever you people sleep just in case.”

“Got it.” 

“All the weapons are here,” Sungjin says, giving them a thumbs up. “Except Brian’s scythe which he hasn’t let go since he got it.”

Brian grins from where he’s helping mount Jae’s Pegasus into the hangar. “I like it. It makes me feel safe.”

“Medical supplies are complete, including the defibrillator and a couple of adrenaline shots,” Wonpil says. “The fridge is cooling so we can probably put the fever packs in soon.”

“The food is all here,” Dowoon says--and then grins sheepishly, hiding cheese-powder tipped fingers in his pocket. “Well. Minus one pack of Cheetos.”

“Hey, Jae?” Brian asks, eyebrows furrowing as he walks over to the window, focuses on the firehouse entrance--a bike parked by the curb, a pale figure walking out the door, mounting the bike and speeding off. “Who’s that?”

They all turn to look a moment too late--the figure’s escaped, the sound of the engine revving as he speeds away. 

“What the f--” Sungjin makes for the door but is cut off by a loud sound. And just like that, the firehouse, their home for the past ten or so years, explodes. The windows burst, the glass booming as fire licks at the sky, consuming the roof, the floors, the walls.  

“Holy fuck,” Jamie says. “Make for the station. Drop me off and then you guys have to be on your way. Don’t stop until you get the fuck out Seoul. If that isn’t a warning--a threat, I don’t know what is.”

Jae nods, already making for the controls, hitting the station and then the Drive option on the GPS.

They all look at the map, the different points blinking red--the vampire castle, the rest stops along the way, the escape route back. 

_ Bring it on.  _


	4. Colors & Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you guys think about my possibly bumping the rating up to an M because the sexy time in the later chapters (don’t get excited, it’ll be at least three chapters away) gets a bit wild. It isn’t super explicit nor is it anything that “teens and up” can’t handle but it’s quite risque so I’d appreciate your opinion. 
> 
> Also, the Barbarois are a concept that (I think) may have originated from (at least I first saw it in) Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust which is awesome (it’s on YouTube) and would 100 percent recommend if you guys like creepy, haunting anime. I borrowed the Barbarois because I needed something that would freak even the son of Hades out. So yeah. Enjoy reading, my friends!

“We should be there by dusk,” Brian says as the large van pulls off of the highway, large tires hitting the dirt road as they leave the highway, Seoul just a shimmering blip in the distance now. It’s well into the morning, the sun is high in the sky, blocked out by the heavy metal blinds but taking a toll on him nonetheless. He feels sleepy, weak, is struggling to keep his focus, his composure. His eyes want to flutter shut, his head is aching, and it doesn’t help that Jae is standing beside him, a hand casually on his shoulder, the heat of it, the promise of all that delicious red beating, flowing just underneath all of that porcelain skin driving him insane--Brian hasn’t drank anything since earlier that evening before they did all of the packing, and hasn’t had a taste of living human blood in decades, not since it was outlawed. “We should all rest, then, let the vehicle do the steering. The world of the Blue Kingdom sits inside this one, but isn’t _of_ it--the passage below’s not going to be easy.”

“Are we talking military-grade troops? The undead army? Werewolves?” Sungjin asks, surveying his weapons, trying to pick which ones to keep on his person as he stands guard--he’d volunteered to take the first shift for the day, make sure that their van is going in the right direction.

Dowoon is frowning, sitting on the long couch beside Brian, his head nestled in his lap the way that they’d sat so many times for all of their years in the dungeon.

“Worse,” Dowoon mumbles, his lower lip trembling in both fear and the memory of anger. “Much, much worse than any anguish a wolf could ever inflict.”

“There may be wolves, yes. As for the army--not quite, or rather, not _just_ ,” Brian grins bitterly, thinking of the place he’d called home for so many years--its opalescent halls, its Library’s great tomes, its cold, cruel dungeons. “Have you heard of the Barbarois?”

“Those assholes?” Jae asks, frowning. “Yeah. We had some of them jailed up in Olympus. They were always causing trouble, always pissing someone off. The worst were those stupid shadow-creeping thingamajigs that always kept on eating up the lightning bolt-bars that we set up over their cells. So fucking tricky to catch. You strike one place with light, another place goes dark and they just _slip_ into it. No fucking escaping them. We ended up having to fling a lot of them into the sun.”

“Shadow-Eaters. Yes. Them and their whole troupe--their loyalty lies with the Blue Throne, I’m afraid,” Brian says grimly. “They’ll obey whoever has the scythe. Most of those who make it up to Olympus are deserters, ghouls and demons looking for employment elsewhere but their ancestors made a blood pact to the One himself--and my grandfather dealt only in blood, it’s the ink with which he wrote his life. There is no escaping him where bloodlines are involved, even after his slumber met him. They run and they hide but they will never escape the demands of our--their--allegiance.”

“I don’t understand,” Wonpil says, frowning. “So--is it like the underworld? Like--Sungjin’s father’s kingdom? Where the Minotaur guards the Labyrinth and the boatman rows across the Styx? And Sungjin and Cerberus guard the entrance on the embankment?”

Again, a look of curiosity crosses Brian’s face. _Why does he know so much about the underworld?_

“Ah,” Sungjin says, finally deciding on the largest gun, made to be held propped up on one’s shoulder, equipped with a net of copper to bind and ammunition of solid silver to strike. He sets the safety in place, checks the magazine. “No, Pil--see, that’s the common misconception. My father rules the underworld, yes, but the underworld is a place for souls to rest. Death is where life goes to sleep, to recover itself before it’s born again. Brian’s people are the keepers of a different place altogether: it’s a shadow-land, a corruption. They are the emissaries of destruction, they are the death that doesn’t die, that refuses to give one life up for another. Do you know his grandfather’s name?”

Wonpil shakes his head.

Jae and Sungjin’s eyes meet.

“You do the honors, _big_ bro?” Sungjin asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Why are you only ever polite when you want something from me?” Jae rolls his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak but it’s Brian who answers, his exhaustion weighing hard on his patience.

“Lucifer,” Brian says curtly. “The Morning Star, the Fallen Angel, the Prince of Dawn, the King of Dusk--whatever you want to call him. They always seem to get it wrong in the books. Hell runs red not with fire but with blood.”

“We’re just going back to hell,” Dowoon says, his voice heavy with annoyance, exasperation. “No big deal. We just fought to escape and now we’re _going back._ ”

“Dowoon would know how hard it is to get past them,” Brian says, sighing and patting Dowoon’s head. “That’s why he was so weak that first night at the pharmacy. We were lucky the moon was full or he never would’ve been able to sustain his form for so long.”

“Hyung,” Dowoon half-whispers, glancing up at Brian’s weary eyes, the blue veins starting to marble his skin. “You should rest.”

Jae tightens his grip of Brian’s shoulder. Brian flinches from the heat, hunger licking at his gut.

“We all should. Come on, BriBri. Let’s go to bed.”

  


In the Blue Throne room, Gamja looks into a pool of water that’s as opaque as a mirror, the silver surface lending his face an eerie glow as he watches the image of the van ambling down the dirt road, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. He grins, twirling the moonstone scythe in one hand, the pale light reflecting off of its blade catching the point of his sharp fangs. With his free hand, he fingers the blunt taper of his ears--an old habit formed from when he would watch Younghyun with envy as a child: head held high, his ears tapering into that envied, royal point.

“Excellent, Agma,” Gamja says, nodding at the shadow that quivers, slithers, crawls like living tar out from under the shadow cast by the bowl that holds the water as the light fades into the same darkness that covers the throne room. “You serve me well. I should’ve known that my brother would be back soon. He always was a little brat who couldn’t get by on his own. This time, there will be no leeway. There will be no prison to break out of, no guards whose minds he can play with. You’d think being made to take care of mongrel scum in a dungeon for a decade would be enough to teach him his lesson. This time, I will destroy him--make him pay for the humiliation he’s put upon our family, upon vampires everywhere.”

“Your brother brings guests, your highness,” Agma the Shadow says, his voice a hissing whisper that echoes throughout the room, the sound licking at the high ceilings, the far corners. “He brings us godlings, Olympians turned away by the Titans--and a soul with the astral sight, it would seem. A descendant of Raphael himself.”

Gamja’s grin widens like a scar brought back to blood by the edge of a knife--two points and then the whole gash.

“Ah. There really isn’t anything as delicious as the blood of someone with the astral sight. It’s so sweet, so delicate on the tongue. They’re healers, the poor sons of my great-uncle. Even the filthy wolves Michael brought upon the bloody world have it better off. They can’t help themselves. Even as you drink them dry, their pulses weakening against your lips, pallor and death moving into their kind, gentle faces, they still heal. Your skin smoother, your senses sharper, life itself seeping into your veins. I suppose I’ll keep him as a meal. The godlings we can use to topple Olympus, hold them hostage. That idiot Zeus still thinks he’s safe up on his throne and that imbecile Hades still thinks his bribes will suffice--scythes and transport and fancy feasts once every quarter-century. They buy him only time, only delaying his demise.”

“Your highness,” the milder, gentler voice of Maester Mung pipes up from the scribe’s chair at the foot of the throne. “If I may offer some counsel.”

Gamja grins at the old vampire, his back crooked, his face still sharp but his eyes old and milky. Despite the fact that he’d starved him and tortured him just to be _sure_ of his loyalty, Mung’s betrayal one of the nearest and dearest to Gamja’s heart--oh, the look of betrayal on Younghyun’s face when he’d seen his mentor in the juror’s seat. The shock, the hurt that flickered across his perfect features; sometimes it’s what Gamja turns over in his mind at dawn like a keepsake, right before he slips into the deep slumber of the undead.

“Of course, Maester.”

“You would do well to keep your brother alive,” he says slowly. “The scythe is bound to his lifeline. If you kill him, you will never truly steal it from him, never come into all of the power that you could possess. Hold the godlings hostage--once you are able to bind the scythe to you, you can cut away at their immortality and make it to Olympus with the invincibility of your forebears, a true Nephilim of the Royal House.”

Gamja frowns, pondering the counsel, anger rising in him at the thought of having to spare his brother one more time, at the possibility of being bested yet again. He sighs.

“Fine. We keep the brat and the godlings alive until you figure out what to do with this scythe,” Gamja says. He turns to Agma the Shadow, who slithers closely until he’s resting in the Gamja’s shadow itself. “ _But_ , I maintain my stand on dinner. The Barbarois better hit them with everything that they have--I want the astral soul to project long enough to trap, his light bright enough to cast the darkest shadow. I will have him, his flesh, his blood, his soul for supper.”

Agma the Shadow bows, slipping into the darkness.

“As you wish, your highness.”

  


Jae is awake, can’t get back to sleep, keeps slipping into slumber only to be jolted out of it by dreams too real to rest through: ghouls, demons, lightning bolts that stretch into long fingers grasping at his heels. He wakes up and knows that he’s in Brian’s arms, knows that somehow they’ve ended up this way again: Brian holding him close, Jae’s long, slender form curled around his steady, broader one. Jae’s eyes are shut tight, his arms around Brian, his cheek pressed to his chest, his hands clutching the thin fabric of his shirt, afraid that if he lets on he’s awake, Brian will let go. Brian isn’t warm--not the way that most people are warm, but there’s something comforting in the heft and the breadth of him, in the way that his hand rests gently on Jae’s back. Jae thinks of blue: not the blue of sadness but the blue of the sky holding rain, of the ocean promising the shore it’ll return.

Jae isn’t quite sure how it happened, how once they got to the small, cramped bedroom, they’d decided to forego sleeping in two, separate bunks, and instead had chosen to climb into the left one, trying to configure themselves the way that they had in Jae’s old room. Except here, the bed is so small that it forces Brian’s back to the wall, forces them to face each other slightly at an angle. Jae is a ball of nerves, a hurricane working itself up in his gut--he’s anxious about the night to come, anxious about the battle they’ll have to fight, nervous about being so close to Brian, scared that he’ll figure out how Jae feels, scared that he won’t. Times like these, Jae wishes that Brian were a noisier sleeper--maybe, then, there would be some noise, some hitching of the breath (if he had breath) to give away whether he was awake too, whether he felt this way too. _Go to sleep,_ he thinks to himself, taking a deep breath as quietly as he can.

“I can hear it, you know,” Brian’s deep voice echoes loud in the small space.

Jae jumps in his arms as he looks up at Brian, whose eyes are open, tired but contemplative as he looks up at the blue darkness.

“Hear what?” Jae does his best to make his voice sound groggy, like he’s just woken up.

“When you’re awake, your pulse goes like a thousand horses galloping--and when you’re asleep, it’s steadier, like a river running its course,” Brian says, moving a hand to rest against Jae’s chest. Brian’s fingers tremble, the hunger, the thirst in him rising to the steady rushing of Jae’s blood in his veins.

“Oh.” Jae smiles a small smile, realizing that Brian still hasn’t let him go, that neither of them are making a move to disentangle themselves from one another. “Sorry. Does it keep you up?”

Brian grins. “Sometimes. Are you scared for later?”

“A little,” Jae says. “If push comes to shove, I’ll have to--you know, do demigod stuff and I’m a bit rusty. Vampire hunting’s one thing--no offense--but the Barbarois. It’s been _years._ And the lightning thing--I mean, Jamie got me the gloves, but still, a guy gets nervous--”

“--I see,” Brian replies, running his fingers absentmindedly through Jae’s hair. It’s soft, flaxen in the darkness. _The closest I’ll ever get to sunshine._ “I get nervous thinking about going back in there too. Dowoonie and I did so much just to get out alive--but I need that scythe, can’t let Gamja get away with this. I figure if we faced them once, we can face them again.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jae says, trying to convince himself--trying to convince them. He watches Brian’s eyes blink slow, his lashes swooping against the pale skin of his cheeks. “I think we’ll be fine. Plus, there are more of us now and we’re basically a bunch of the world’s hardest to kill--plus we’ve got Dowoon. Sungjin said his werewolf game’s really something--”

“--werewolf _game,_ ” Brian repeats. “I swear to god, I don’t understand half the things that you say.”

“You’ve only known me what--like, two weeks? Wait until you’ve known me a couple of years, then you’ll be really confused. Sungjin and I barely understand anything the other one says anymore--”

“--why do you pretend?” Brian interrupts, his tone serious.

“Pretend what?”

“To be asleep?” Brian asks, his gaze meeting Jae’s. “Why don’t you just talk to me?”

“Oh,” Jae says, his face flushing crimson. Brian can’t help himself, raises his palm to Jae’s cheek just to listen to his blood sing under his skin, to feel that blessed warmth of him. “Well. God, I can’t believe I’m telling a _vampire_ this. I swear to god, if my father knew the sorts of shit I’ve gotten up to, he’ll exile me from the _universe_ \--I like sleeping like this. With you, I mean. I like it--when you hold me. It makes me feel safe--and I pretend to sleep because I worry that if you know I’m awake, you’ll let me go.”

Brian shifts so that they’re facing each other, the tips of their noses almost touching.

“Why would I do that?”

Jae’s answer catches him off guard--there’s no clever distraction, no quick witticism, no speedy comeback, no off-beat remark. Instead, Jae puts a long, slender hand to Brian’s nape and leans in, closing the space between them, kissing him long and warm and soft. Something inside Brian gives in and he kisses Jae back the only way that he knows how: hard, with fervor, licking into Jae’s mouth that is warm, too warm, nothing compared to anything--anyone--else that Brian’s ever tasted. Jae tugs him in closer by the collar, slipping his leg between Brian’s thighs. Brian finds Jae’s lower lip locked between his teeth and can’t help himself, the hunger and exhaustion and the _closeness_ , the heat, the smell of him irresistible. He sucks, digs the point of his tooth into the softness of Jae’s lower lip until it draws blood, until a drop lands on Brian’s tongue--he keens, all of him suddenly alive, the desire in his gut burning with fire. Jae isn’t only sweet, he’s maddeningly delicious: his blood like a taste of Ambrosia after years of settling for grape juice. Brian licks, draws deeper, lets himself drink. Jae whimpers but sighs into the kiss, gives into the sting, the pain, is shimmying his hands under the hems of Brian’s shirt, fingers tracing the waistband of Brian’s pants.

Brian pulls away, gasping for air, eyes wide, pupils blown wide--hazel in the liquid onyx of his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Jae asks, out of breath, his face flushed, his lip kiss-swollen and still smeared with the faintest trace of blood. “Why--sorry--was it bad--did I do it wrong--”

“--no.” Brian backs up against the wall, holding Jae’s trembling hands in his but keeping him at a distance. “No it’s not that--Jae, look--I can’t--we can’t--you don’t understand, for us, it’s not an act of tenderness, but of brutality. I--I would destroy you--we need blood or Powder Blue and I am unwilling to risk the act of acquiring either--”

“--I can take it,” Jae says quickly. He holds Brian’s finger to the soft flesh of his lower lip. “See? Healed already. Demigod, remember. I mean mostly it sucks ass but it _does_ have some perks.”

Brian shakes his head. When his gaze meets Jae’s his eyes are serious.

He relents, plants a quick kiss on the corner of Jae’s mouth.

Jae pouts, trying to keep the sadness, the disappointment out of his expression and failing miserably.

“Don’t be mad. I just want to keep you safe--”

And then there’s a huge bump toward the back of the van, everything around them jolting as something bumps against--thrashes _at_ \--the body of the vehicle. There’s a loud crash outside, a squeaking of the wheels. The bedroom door bursts open, Sungjin rushing in, his gun already locked and loaded.

“Get up, love birds. We’re under attack.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter Friday or so.
> 
> Twitter/CC: @teenuviel1227
> 
> ALSO! I am currently open for commissions (6 slots left); the information is here: https://twitter.com/teenuviel1227/status/1016158507526000643


	5. I Will Not Let Anything Take Away What's Standing In Front Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shoot Me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the “mid-season finale” of this fic and I will resume posting updates on ~~Friday, July 20~~ Sunday, July 22. In the meantime, the SungPil fic I’m Someone You Maybe Might Love will update and more Jaehyungparkian commissions (a fake dating AU and some smutty one-shots) will be going up. :) Enjoy and please yell at me in the comments.
> 
> Edit: The rating has been upgraded to an M for violence and sexytimes.

“Ready?” Sungjin asks, a foot on the pedal as he revvs the CerberusX’s engine until it roars. He has his crossbow ready, the trigger up his sleeve loaded. 

“Hell yeah,” Wonpil says, tightening his arms around Sungjin’s waist. On his ears are the silver hoops that Jamie had given him, their stones glittering blue and purple despite the lack of light as Wonpil plays with his power: coursing it through his veins. He can smell the malice, the anxiety in the creatures, the spirits approaching them--a rusty, metallic smell like spilled blood--and can taste his comrades’ mingled fear and courage in the air, sweet and salty at once like sugar over singed butter. He can see the bold, brave beating of Sungjin’s heart: the richest blue, the brightest silver. Wonpil grins, feeling more settled for the first time in a long while: he can feel the astral tether strengthening, can feel adrenaline surging through him, his power ready to leap out of him at a moment’s notice. He looks out the window at the approaching flood of ghouls and other ghastly abominations. Wonpil smirks.  _ Let’s give the demons hell.  _ In his holsters are a couple of poisoned daggers and in his right hand is a special bow that Sungjin had pilfered from his father’s armory when they escaped from the underworld all those years ago--it’s a sleek, shining black, the gunmetal arrows in Wonpil’s quiver tipped with the black flames of death that would vanquish even the strongest of ghosts. It’s been so long since he’s been allowed to join a fight, been so long since he’s ridden with Sungjin like this. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Don’t get excited,” Sungjin says softly, but there’s an edge to his voice--a gentle warning a warning nonetheless as he secures the hook on the harness that binds him and Wonpil together  _ just in case _ . Sungjin says a silent prayer (although he isn’t sure to whom) that Wonpil won’t have to astral project tonight--he hates the sight, the feeling of it whenever it happens: Wonpil’s body goes slack, eyes fluttering shut in a sick mimicry of death, his breath momentarily caught in his chest like a question, Sungjin suddenly unsure when he’ll be back. It makes him feel powerless, having no choice but to watch Wonpil’s glowing spirit dance, fight, spend itself in the atmosphere. It never gets easier to watch, not after everything that they’ve been through. “Not until it’s _ absolutely _ necessary alright?”

“Alright.” Wonpil promises, kissing the back of Sungjin’s neck. He nods toward Dowoon, who hits the release button on the hatch--they’d decided to keep him on reserve, a last resort, an ace: and also, their emergency escape.

Cold air floods the van, whipping against their cheeks, their faces. 

“Dowoonie, if things start to go south, don’t forget to hit the auto-recall on the console. It’ll pull the bikes and weapons back in immediately. And if even the bikes don’t make it--if we don’t make it, you hit autodrive and get everything back to Jamie as soon as possible. Got it?”

Dowoon nods, jaw set firmly. “Got it.”

“Let’s get these fuckers.” Jae pulls on the insulating gloves, frowning as he glances outside, the sky ebony-black, the atmosphere bleary with the haze of spells cast, hexes thrown and missed, spirits summoning their power. Ghouls run amok, rocking the van with their long, spindly fingers that run through the metal body but shift it nonetheless. Monsters and demons of different shapes and sizes charge toward them--a satyr without eyes, a minotaur with big, jagged teeth, a cambion swooping low, its wings scraping the ground just short of the van. Jae snaps his shield in place with a satisfactory click, straddles the Pegasus 3000, lets the engine roar. He glances at Brian. “Sure you don’t want a ride?”

“Not this time.” Brian flips his scythe, the blade singing through the air. He grins, gaze fixed on the attack rolling toward them. While he hates the smell of home, hates that dry, cold, acrid air, hates that snickering that never sounded evil until it was directed toward him, hates having to return to the very place he’d just fled,  there are some advantages here--being so close to the territory he was born to rule lends him strength: he can feel it in the sharpness of his senses, can identify each thing coming toward them easy as moonlight in a dark room. Poltergeists, shadow-eater, incubus--he sees, smells, senses each of them. He licks his lips. Also, having just had the first drink of fresh blood in years has given him renewed focus, his mind clear for the first time in what feels like forever. 

Brian steps forward onto the off-ramp, into the night. 

Jae frowns. “Bri, what are you d--” 

In a flourish, Brian lets his wings unfurl--they’re the deepest, darkest black, taller than the van and wider than its breadth. In a single movement that Jae thinks is one of the most beautiful things that he’s ever seen, flight full of a dark, dangerous gracefulness, Brian’s off, swooping up into the darkness and down upon their enemy, swinging his scythe and vanquishing the cambion wreaking havoc on the van with one, bloody strike before moving forward, into the oncoming sea of enemies.

“Let’s fucking get it then.” Jae grins, hands crackling with lightning as he drives the Pegasus 3000 into battle, the squealing of wheels like a sharp neigh in the night air. 

Sungjin lets out a laugh as he lets the CerberusX whip forward, loading his crossbow as they rush into battle. Wonpil grins, reaching back and nocking an arrow, taking aim at a poltergeist and letting it rip, the spirit going up in dark flames. Behind them, Dowoon shuts the hatch, bidding his friends goodluck as the battle starts.

_ Fight well, hyungs. _

  
  


“They’re good,” Gamja muses, frowning as he sits sprawled on his throne. He’s looking into the mirrors of truth open in front of him, watching as the images there move: there’s Younghyun, swinging his scythe, dark hair shifting the shadows on his face as he slashes off a Minotaur’s bloody hoof, spins in the darkness and swoops low, cutting across its gut.  _ You seem to have learned a thing or two about fighting in the dungeons, Brother.  _

The pictures in the pool glimmer, change. 

There are the two godlings--both wearing their blasted fathers’ smug expressions: on his white motorcycle, the son of Zeus is playing with lightning, half-grinning as he uses a bolt to strike an Incubus, tearing through it from the core out until there’s nothing but air, reaching back and lifting his shield to block an attack from a centaur shooting at him with a shower of arrows; the son of Hades is sitting astride his black bike that roars through the night, dark eyes serious as he aims and shoots a string of arrows through the hearts of rogue wolves that Gamja himself had selected and torn from their mother’s breasts as infants, dropping in his wake like flies, royal blue fire pouring from his fingertips as a banshee tries to mount his bike, her long fingernails clawing at his heels before the flame consumes her, her mouth open in a silent scream. Blue flame licks at the silver edges and the pool goes black before revealing the astral soul, arms closing around the son of Hades’ waist, lips pressing tenderly to his back in a gesture of tenderness before he reaches back to nock an arrow, aim true at a sphinx throwing stones at Younghyun and shoot the flaming death through its heart. 

Gamja grins.  _ How tender. A love story.  _

“Maester.” 

“Yes, your highness?” 

“Do we know anything about this particular son of Hades?” 

Maester Mung hesitates. 

Gamja throws him a sharp glance, aims his scythe at the Maester’s throat.

“Don’t forget that I can paralyze you anytime I want, can pry that knowledge from your mind while your blood runs black onto these marble floors. Cherish your control over your life while I let you have it--” 

“--Sungjin the Keeper, your highness. Birthed from a mortal mother, made to keep the gates of the underworld, greeter at the arrival bank of the Styx, master of Cerberus the three-headed-dog. Exiled it would seem for stealing one of the souls before they entered through the gates--”

“--and what of the soul?"

Maester Mung watches the mirror where the image of Wonpil remains as they charge through the throng of their remaining enemies, Wonpil pulling a poisoned dagger out and using it to cut through the neck of a Hydra that snarls at them, Sungjin joining in in time as the stump from which the head was cut divides into two. Sungjin burns the stumps with his fire before they sprout into more heads, killing them at their root. 

“An astral soul, your highness. Kim Wonpil. He’d--well, during his lifetime he served at one of the top hospitals in Seoul. He died from projecting too far for too long while he was dreaming: death crawled into his body and he never woke up. It was his fourth lifecycle, was on the way to be put to rest. And Sungjin took him, back across the Styx, up the labyrinth, into the cemetary where he dug up the grave--and the body was washed with magic Hades had forbidden, magic of re-birth. Or so the chatter goes in my circles.” 

“Love, then?” Gamja remarks, a slow, wide grin slipping across his face. “These idiots are always doing stupid things for that.”

“So it would seem.” 

“Agma,” Gamja calls--and from the shadows of the pillars of the throne room comes slithering Agma: malice encased in darkness, the living shadow.

“You called, your highness?” 

“Your orders have changed. Get me the astral soul but leave him unharmed. I will devour him after I’ve used him to have the godlings bring my brother to his demise.” 

“As you wish, your highness.” 

And with that, Agma slips into the darkness and out of the throne room.

  
  


The monsters go down easier than they’d expected, Brian’s scythe far from the quality of the moonstone one they’d come to collect, but sharp nonetheless--cutting through flesh and bone easy, severing muscle from tendon like a hot knife through butter. Jae’s lightning bolts petrify, electrocute, burn through the thickest hide--Sungjn’s arrows poison, sting, stun the greatest beasts, his fire bringing death in its wake, keeping even the Hydra’s heads from regenerating. 

It’s the spirits, the ghosts that they have real trouble with: Brian’s scythe simply slips through them, Jae’s lightning bolts moving through their effervescent bodies like a zeppelin in a storm, even Sungjin’s fire is too slow for their quick dodges, moving like thread through the eye of a needle. Their cruel spells hit home: a hex for pain from a Strigoi shooting through Brian’s shoulder, a poltergeist managing to throw Jae off of his bike a couple of times, a black knight managing to drive his ghostly sword across Sungjin’s knee, the pain cold and deep in his bones. 

In the end, they stand on a battlefield littered with the bodies of their enemies, surrounded not by the monsters or the army of vampires that they’d expected, but by ghouls and shikigami, aswangs and manananggal, pelesit and their dead masters. 

“Fuck,” Jae says, putting a leg on the floor to brace himself as he stops by Brian, who has his wings up as a shield, his scythe held high but unsure where to strike. Jae’s flaxen hair droops into his eyes from the movement, the momentum, his body weary, the fear of failure flooding through him. He’s out of breath, watches as Sungjin and Wonpil race toward them, escaping the clutches of  a TikTik, its long tongue slithering after them. “Okay. We’re fucking fucked.”

“Not yet,” Brian says, nodding, his dark hair whipping around in the cool night air. “Your shield. We can use it to keep them at bay for a while--I think we need Wonpil--” 

“--got it,” Jae says, grinning, having forgotten for a moment that they’d had Wonpil’s ability, his special trick up their sleeve. Jae throws his shield, thinking  _ high _ and it hits the ground right as Sungjin and Wonpil zoom toward them, creating a wall around the four of them. Sungjin lifts a hand and blue fire surrounds the shield. Jae grins, letting lightning crackle between his fingertips before throwing it out around them, a forcefield of sorts, a net of illumination.

“It won’t hold long,” Sungjin says, out of breath as they reach them. He flinches as he puts a leg down to brace them against the floor. “What do we do?”

Jae doesn’t answer, dreads talking to Sungjin about the one thing he knows his brother hates to hear the most. He only glances up at Wonpil, who puts a gentle hand on Sungjin’s shoulder.

“You know what we have to do.”

Sungjin shakes his head. “I won’t risk it. We should ask Dowoon to take us back.” 

Sungjin hits the button on is comms. “Dowoonie--”

“No,” Wonpil says, frowning, his jaw set, determined, turning Sungjin’s comms off. “No. It’s not fair. You all got to do what you could to protect us. It’s my turn.”

Sungjin’s lower lip quivers. He holds back the tears stinging his eyes. 

“But--”

“--I’ll come back,” Wonpil says, kissing Sungjin’s temple.

“--promise me--”

“--I swear it on the life you stole back from me.”

Sungjin nods, takes a deep breath, looks deep into Wonpil’s dark brown eyes that remind him so much of warm nights and hot cocoa, of the feeling of being home. “Fine. I trust you.”

Wonpil grins, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath--it starts like this: like trying to hunt for the right star in a bright nebula scattered across the deepest, darkest blackness. A tug at the heart, a wave of feeling, and there it is--the color of amethyst, shining, his soul’s way out of his body, his power’s gateway. Wonpil grins, directing his energy toward it, rushing forward, further, faster, until he’s out, flying into the night. His soul burns bright, so bright: violet and pink and auburn, green and blue and yellow all at once. On the bike, his physical body goes limp against Sungjin. Sungjin frowns, unhooking them and carrying Wonpil in his arms instead, finding comfort in the rise and fall of his chest, in the sound of his breathing, in how warm he is when Sungjin smooths his hair away from his forehead.

Wonpil’s spirit looks at Jae, mouths  _ take the shield down _ \--and Jae does as he’s told. 

And in a flash, Wonpil’s spirit dashes forward: through the deep blue flame and the bright, crackling lightning. He’s grinning, his hair blowing from the force of a different wind, the force of his own power. With a wave of his hand, he uses a ball of light to vanquish demon after demon, the spirits crying out a last time before they splinter into bright dust and then nothingness. The next wave of spirits comes on and Wonpil forms the light into a sword, swinging until the ghouls are severed from their tricks, the demons from their hexes, the evil souls reduced to floating, harmless orbs. 

“Come back now,” Sungjin says, voice urgent as he watches Wonpil turn a Obambo back into the doll from which it originated, its clay figure shattering on the earth. “Pirrie, come back. It’s done, come back.” 

Wonpil’s spirit turns toward him and smiles, is about to rush back, when he realizes too late what’s happened: beneath the brightest light, the darkest contrast, the deepest shadow. A dark shadow hand clutches at a glowing ankle. 

“Agma--” Brian says, voice filling with fear, with panic. He unfurls his wings and nods toward them. “--I didn’t think they’d use him, he never leaves Gamja’s side--Wonpil, fight back--”

Brian kicks off into flight as fear flashes across Wonpil’s face, his eyes glowing a dark purple now, the light in him flickering, darkening.

“--a Shadow-Eater--” Jae revvs the engine, zooms off, following Brian.

Sungjin is paralyzed. Wonpil’s body is limp in his arms.  _ No, no, no this can’t be happening. _ He glances toward the battlefield where Jae strikes the ground next to Wonpil, ridding the shadow of a place to hide--but for every bright light, a new darkness pops up, Wonpil’s spirit unable to writhe free of Agma’s grasp. 

And then Sungjin feels rage fill his veins, finds himself the angriest that he’s ever been. In a flash, he’s off, not needing his hands to stir the bike, moving it by sheer force of will, Wonpil’s body held close to his chest. 

“By the power of Hades, god of the underworld,” Sungjin says with all of the conviction that he can muster. “Serve me, Cerberus--”

There is a lick of black fire, a flicker of darkness, and instead of a  motorcycle, Sungjin rides astride Cerberus, the three-headed dog that guards the gates of the underworld, roaring with a fury. They rush forward and Sungjin hits Agma with the kinds of flames that cast no shadow: death. It’s a push-and-pull, a tug of war of the wills--and for a moment, Sungjin thinks he might win, Wonpil’s soul so close, so near to entering his body again, his spirit’s fingertip reaching out to touch his bodie’s. There is a crackle of light--a sizzle of return and Sungjin holds his breath, hopes against hope--but then something goes wrong and it takes a moment for them all to realize what it is. 

Dowoon’s hit the auto-recall button, the censors on their weapons, the bikes--even Cerberus in this form, the censor planted on a floppy, furry, black ear--being pulled in against their will. Sungjin reaches out to Wonpil’s soul in vain, even as they’re wrenched away. 

“He’s mine.” Agma grins, a tar-like smile as he pulls Wonpil’s light toward him. 

“No,” Sungjin says, struggling against the pull. “Pil--”

In a last effort, Wonpil’s spirit looks at him and smiles, mouths words that Sungjin understands but doesn’t want to hear. 

_ Save me. One last time.  _

And then they’re rushing past, Wonpil’s body still alive and warm but limp in Sungjin’s arms, back, back, back past the battlefield, the carnage they’d created and into the waiting hatch of the van, the ramp down. Cerberus moves back into its motorcycle form with a screech and Sungjin dismounts, holds Wonpil’s body close as he carries him to the nearest bed, a finger held to his temples. 

Relief rushes through him as a pulse thumps steady.

_ Alive. He’s still alive.  _

“Sungjin--” Brian reaches out to touch Sungjin’s shoulder.

“--leave me the fuck alone,” Sungjin says, shaking his head. “You  _ all  _ leave me the fuck alone. I told everyone. I fucking told--” 

That’s when Brian hears it, his old Maester’s voice. 

_ Agma has him hostage. His soul is strong but will not last parted so long from his body. You have to rescue him.  _

Miles away, Agma grins as he traps Wonpil’s soul in an orb of shadow, bobbing behind him as he drags him toward the Blue Palace. 

In the van, Brian walks past a bewildered Dowoon, past Jae pulling the medical equipment in from the other room and hooking Wonpil up to the monitors. He moves toward the navigation console, selects the palace’s coordinates and hits drive.

_ Maester Mung. Tell my brother that if it’s war he wants, then it’s war he’ll get.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter/CC: @teenuviel1227


	6. Frozen, I Held My Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter. The next chapter will be something else--Jaehyungparkian shippers, brace yourselves. Also, I’ve decided how long this fic is going to be. So. Yay! Next update will be on Wednesday or Thursday. Tomorrow, I have another smutty commission going up so that should be exciting.

When in doubt, look for a friendly face--that’s what his father said and all his life, that’s what Wonpil had done: during his first medical conference when he’d had to present his first study that made it to Phase III, he’d kept his gaze fixed on the girl in the audience with the big glasses and kind smile; when he’d scrubbed in on his first surgery, he’d fixated on his mentor’s kind, encouraging voice as he dictated what Wonpil was supposed to do and it kept his hands steady.

In death, things were a little different because Wonpil’s death happened differently than most people’s. There was no warning, no moment of foresight, no creeping sense of dread--he’d been asleep, had indulged himself a little with the astral projection, choosing to go into different worlds, to explore beaches bright as champagne and deserts white with snow as he often did on nights when the sleep was deep and the dreaming kind because projecting made him feel free, made him feel untethered in the best way like when he’d gone paragliding before graduation in highschool or when he went up to the rooftop of his apartment building to feel the wind in his hair. 

He’d gone too far, taken a little too long to come back.

He’d simply lost track of time, had floated back to his body to find it different--bluer, paler, still. The change was small but tangible: the absence of the rise and fall of breath. When he’d tried to set himself back in the way he had so many nights of his life, there was no give to his body, like denim that refuses to stretch over skin. 

Death had crawled in while he was away, had curled itself into his heart and stopped the blood flowing, the breath moving through him. 

Before he knew what was happening, Wonpil found himself standing at a port in a dark place, waiting for something but unsure what it was, exactly. The river was odd: the water dark, rushing quick, but the surface wispy, cloudy somehow like a cirrus you could touch if you just reached out far enough. It didn’t feel terrifying or malevolent--only peaceful the way that rain falling on the damp earth is peaceful. The people--the souls--around him had mixed reactions: some of them were worried, whispering about heaven or hell (mostly the Catholics), others serene and trying to meditate on what had happened before they’d gotten here, others simply trying to make conversation, to normalize the situation as though this were merely an orientation to a program or conference that they’d all mistakenly joined.

_ Where are you from? What were you doing before you came here? _

Real panic had sunk in only when what they were waiting for arrived: a giant gondola with a body like gun metal, the furnishings and carvings in the side done in heavy silver, portraying souls reaching up and out of the water. The gondolier was tall and dressed in black that flowed but never ended, simply met the river’s odd foam as though they were one and the same, sky and shore without the horizon to separate them. 

As they boarded, they began to notice the water--that the foam which rose from the rest of the blackness were shaped like fingers of smoke, reaching out, no, begging the gondolier to pull them out of the water. And beneath that layer, their pale, ghostly faces: twisted in agony, howling in pain. People on the boat began to panic as the current grew swift, as the boat moved toward their destination and the souls tugged harder, the boat eddying as it moved forward. 

And yet, as afraid as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that the fate of the souls in the river would be their own--there must be a logic to it, Wonpil thought. There must be a system or a way of deciding: he thought about the different books that they’d read as children, different myths that might apply. There were the egyptians who believed in weighing the heart against a feather for the prize of choice, the buddhists who measured the value of a life by joy given and desire given up, the taoists who saw life and death as part and parcel of one another. 

The ruckus on board took a while to pick up but when it did, it was hard to stop: people were talking about jumping off, of doing themselves a favor, of trying to swim back. They were talking about usurping control of the vessel, of making sure they never arrived on the other side of the river which was fast approaching.

“Please don’t panic,” He found himself saying, trying to calm everyone aboard the gondola with him. “There must be a kind of--order or process that we don’t yet understand--there has to be. We shouldn’t assume--”

Quiet fell over the gondola like a blanket as the boat started to slow, getting ready to dock. And that’s when Wonpil saw him: the kindest, most handsome face that he’d seen in his life, waiting for them on the river bank. At the sight of him, any traces of fear and frenzy dissipated altogether, a strange feeling of calm wrapping around Wonpil like a blanket or a coat on a cold night. 

Standing on the opposite bank was Sungjin, son of Hades, guardian at the gates of the netherworld: he had jet black hair that was swept back and off his forehead as if perpetually blown by some invisible breeze, was standing tall, dressed in black armor, head held high with his deep, dark, almond-shaped eyes studying Wonpil’s form, holding his gaze as the boat came to a halt and they stepped off onto the dark wood of the port. 

Wonpil watched, entranced, as he checked everyone’s hands--although for what, Wonpil had no idea. When it was his turn, it was only then that Wonpil realized that he was really, truly dead: he realized that when the beautiful man touched him, took his hand in his to read his palms, he couldn’t feel anything--no warmth or safety or firmness, only a tingle where spirit meets flesh, and with it the sudden desperate desire to be incarnate. 

As a doctor, Wonpil had never been very afraid of death mostly because he’d seen it as a fact: everyone is going to die; it is the natural order of things. But now, right at the gates of the underworld, he found himself longing for life--remembering how it felt to hold and be held, to kiss, to playfully shove at someone of whom you’re fond, to laugh with all your body, to let a visceral feeling rip through you with every trembling nerve, every pulsing vein. 

He watched the handsome man frown, the crease between his eyebrows that Wonpil would learn to know and love over the years running deep as he studied the lines on Wonpil’s hands. 

“So. Have I been terrible?” Wonpil asked, attempting a joke even in the most dire of situations.

To his surprise, when the man looked up, his dark eyes were glassy and in the pale light, they gave off the haunting impression of stone slowly coming to life. 

“No.” His voice was hoarse, deep, if quiet--barely above a whisper. “You were--are--beautiful.”

If Wonpil could blush, he would have. 

He settled instead for a smile.

“That’s good to hear. So which system is it going to be? Heaven or hell? Heart lighter than a feather?”

“They’re one and the same.” 

“So then, after the judgement--reincarnation?” 

The man shook his head sadly, and to Wonpil’s surprise, held his hand close, folding his big hands around Wonpil’s smaller one. There was no flesh, no skin, but warmth all the same--a feeling of being safe, kept, looked-after,  _ seen.  _

“Not for you. That life was your fourth, your last. From here, you move into the dust.”

A glance held, desire in a single look. 

The gates were swinging open slowly, the souls being set on their separate paths. 

“I--will I see you again--?"

“--not if you enter--” 

The line pushed forward. 

“Goodbye, then--” 

Sadness washed over Wonpil as he moved to take his hand back--but Sungjin held on, pulled him closer until his lips were so close that they would’ve brushed against the shell of Wonpil’s ear if they could, if they had met under different circumstances, if they were anywhere else.

“--do you trust me?”

“What?”

Sungjin looked up at him, a smirk on his lips. “I said, do you trust me?”

Wonpil smiled, a look of wonder shifting across his face. 

“Yes?”

“Then run.” 

  
  


They don’t waste any time. The van busts into the Blue Palace with a host of monsters at their heels--rabid dogs and dragons, serpents and sphinxes--but they stave them off: Sungjin letting out a river of fire of death, the creatures dropping dead in their wake, Jae letting the lightning rain down on the flying creatures that Sungjin’s missed. The castle is warded but Brian has magic of his own, parts Maester Mung’s reluctant spells (he can tell he’d been forced, can smell it in the air) easily, knowing it well, having built his own techniques on it. Besides, Brian thinks as they roll into the Blue Palace’s bone-white walls. 

This is the palace he was born to rule. 

What could possibly go wrong?

“What now?” Sungjin asks as they disembark, his face determined, jaw set, but his eyes still swimming with pain, with fear. He loads his crossbow. “Where’s Pil?”

_ The Room of Dawn _ , comes Maester Mung’s voice.  _ Hurry. _

“They’re going to try and trap us,” Brian says. “The Room of Dawn is where they execute vampires--where we hang traitors and leave the sun to devour them--”

“--no,” Dowoon says, shaking his head. “No, hyungie. I won’t let you go in there again--”

“--it’s okay, Dowoonie. I know better this time--” 

“--the last time we were there--” 

“--great--” Jae says, smirking, checking his shield before clicking it back into place. “--so we’re walking into a death trap--”

“--Jae,” Brian says. “I need you and Dowon to get Wonpil. Sungjin and I will drive the van up--” 

“No,” Sungjin says. “I’ll get Pillie. He’ll want it to be me--”

“--and so will Gamja. They’ll want you to do it. They’ll want you to be there so that they can emotionally manipulate you into doing what they want. I’ll bet that’s why they got him. Gamja has spies, methods--”

“--then he can see us now--” 

“--d’you ever stop to think what specialty the Crown Prince studied, Sungjin?” Brian interrupts, his lips curling into a sly smile. “What could the heir apparent to the kingdom of the Nephilim possibly want to master?”

Sungjin raises an eyebrow.

“The art of illusion.” Brian grins, fangs glinting in the light. “He’ll want to capture me, want to kill me--and so he can try. There’ll be a lot of me to kill. He won’t even know I’m not there.” 

And just like that, Brian splits into two--and then three and then four and then ten copies of himself. 

Jae clears his throat, watching the different versions of Brian twist and turn in the bluish light, swishing their scythes through the air. “Not gonna lie, dude--that’s--that’s kinda hot--”

“--they can’t touch,” Brian says, trying to had the sheepishness that crawls into his voice. “I mean. They’re just for show they can’t hold anything--”

Jae reaches a hand out to touch one of the illusions but his palm passes right through its shoulder. He grins slyly at Brian, the heat of their kiss coming back to them both. Holding Brian’s gaze, Jae wiggles his eyebrows.

“Shame, huh--”

“--why do you keep saying things like that to him?” Dowoon says, frowning at Jae. “You’re weird. I don’t like it--”

“--leave it, Dowoonie,” Brian says, a small smile on his lips.

“You guys are disgusting.” Sungjin sighs. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

  
  


It’s cold and Wonpil hates it, feels himself flickering in and out of consciousness, resisting the urge to give into the one command the cold seems to constantly whisper.  _ Sleep. Give in, sleep.  _  The shadow-cage that he’s in is freezing--not the natural coldness of ice or even that loamy, pulsing cool that the underworld had been. In Agma’s shadow cage, the cold is cutting, pierces to the bone. He lifts a glowing hand to touch it and it feels like broken glass if it were cloaking a snake--cold but alive in a way that nothing should be alive, the cruel, slithering thing squirming underneath. 

Wonpil can feel his body near him, or closer than it had been for the past few hours.  _ They’re here.  _ He says a silent thanks for the fact that Jamie had gotten him those regulators--but even now, he knows they’ll have to get here soon or else death will find his body again, would lie in it again like wind slipping into a shell. 

And this time Sungjin wouldn’t be waiting for him at the gates. 

He watches Gamja sitting in the juror’s chair, playing with the scythe that Brian had talked about: it was even more magnificent than Brian had described it to be--long and opalescent, the body made of entwined bone and ivory, the blade made of glowing moonstone. The thing about Gamja is that his resemblance to Brian is odd, skewed: Wonpil can see the similarities despite the differences in their ears, their build--the same the tilt of the eyes, the height of their cheekbones, the sharp cut of their jaw, and yet if he hadn’t been told, he never would’ve put two and two together, never would’ve guessed they were brothers. There’s something about the way that Gamja wears Brian’s features that unsettles him: where Brian wears his handsomeness with kindness, like a kerchief reaching out to staunch a wound, Gamja wears it like a sword, like armor to cut down all that didn’t serve him. 

“Don’t worry, little thing,” Gamja says, fixing his gaze on Wonpil.  “They’re on their way. It won’t be long now until I can drink you up as your lover watches and we can all watch my brother burn--” 

Wonpil only smiles.  _ He saved me once. He’ll do it again.  _   


Gamja lets out a small, cruel laugh. 

“--how optimistic of you to think that I would be anywhere as kind as Hades, the sentimental fool.” 

Gamja smiles, standing up. 

“They’re here--” 

And with that, the Pegasus bursts into the room, engine roaring as it busts the doors to the Room of Dawn wide open, Jae at its helm, Brian riding behind him. Dowoon follows in their wake, in full wolf form, body rumbling with anger, fangs snarling at the vampire guards who he bites at, tosses out of the way in one sweeping motion. Jae drives the bike in circles around the room, swinging his wooden stakes and taking out three, four guards, their bodies disintigrating into ash as the wood finds their hearts.

“--ah, yes. My disgraced brother, his mutt, and the runt of Zeus’s litter. You always did have a thing for strays--” 

“--Gamja,” Brian jumps off of the white bike, wings spread white, scythe held high. “Prepare to die.” 

Gamja dodges, swinging the moonstone scythe at Brian and missing by a hair, both of them landing in a defensive stance, wings opened wide, scythes held cross-body. 

“What kind of idiot are you, Younghyun?” Gamja laughs. “I have the moonstone scythe. Your mortal weapons can injure me but never for long, never enough to kill me.” 

Brian grins. “And yet you can’t use it to cut anything but flesh. Bastard.” 

Gamja’s smile curls into a snarl. “You’ll pay for that. Spoiled child.” 

Across the room, Jae and Dowoon make for the shadow-cage, Jae doing his best to light up the path leading up to it, to rid it of shade with his lightning bolts, trying to carve up a path of light wide enough for them to fight on, plotting an escape route, making sure to get it as close as he can to the cage without striking Wonpil. One of the guards makes it rain steel bullets. Jae deflects them with his shield. Dowoon rips the remaining vampires standing guard limb from limb, injuring them well enough to keep them preoccupied, tossing their dismembered arms and legs toward opposite ends of the room to hinder regeneration for as long as he can. Everywhere, black blood spills, rich and viscous.

Above them, the sun is starting to rise behind the dark velvet drapes.

Wonpil feels the warmth start to pierce through the shadow, feels the glass starting to thin, feels relief start to course through him. 

“Hold on, Pil,” Jae says, lightning crackling between his hands as he tries to find the right places to flood with light so that the shadows they’d cast would be narrow, places too shallow for Agma to hide in. “It’s a bit tricky--this place is so dark.” 

Wonpil frowns, trying not to let the panic show on his face.  _ Where’s Sungjin?  _

“He’ll be here. Just. Stay--glowy.” Jae casts his light, the outer shadow of the cage cracking, starting to break. 

_ I’ll help.  _ Wonpil nods, concentrates his energy on lighting the shadow cage up from the inside. 

Brian lets out a laugh as Gamja’s scythe cuts right through him--or his illusion. 

“Imbecile,” Gamja says, anger pulsing through every syllable. He looks around. “I know you can’t do that from afar. I know you’re here.” 

“Of course I am,” Brian says. And out of the shadows step ten, twenty, thirty copies of him. “Now which one of me is me--that’s the question--” 

Gamja sneers, regaining his composure. “--you think I don’t know that your puppets can’t touch anything--what saves you is also what dooms you, brother--” 

One of the Brians lunges at Gamja and he dodges only to find another swinging his scythe down at him. From behind him, the real Brian grins, knowing that Gamja is tiring himself out despite his bravado. He leans in, is about to reach out to grab the scythe, to finally take it when two very unexpected things happen at the same time. 

Gamja throws the moonstone scythe across the room until it skids right under the sunroof, a slit of sunlight crossing its pale body. Brian feels his heart drop in shock.  _ No.  _ Across the room, Agma slips a hand out from the thin shadows and grabs Jae’s ankle just as the shadow-cage gives, Wonpil untethered but exhausted and unsure where to go. Jae lets out a shriek of terror, of pain as Agma drives a shadow-bolt, a mimicry of Jae’s own lightning down into the flesh and bone of Jae’s ankle. 

Brian knows he’s fallen for the trap right as he takes flight--reveals his true self as he flies toward the scythe. 

Gamja reaches for the cords to open the drapes and flood the room with sunlight Dowoon gets to him first, holding him down with his great paws.

Agma lets out a laugh as he starts to rebuild his shadow-prison: this time a web. He’s still holding Jae by the ankles, chaining Jae to the sinew, hands held back and unable to conjure lightning. He reaches up, up, up for Wonpil who’s began to drift toward the sunlight--and he catches him, letting out a laugh as his shadow-hand lands right on the throat of Wonpil’s soul. Wonpil flickers. 

“Pil!” Jae yells, struggling against his constraints. 

Brian looks up at Wonpil in panic.  _ He won’t make it. Agma’s seeping the life out of him.  _ He can hear the Van pull up, finally having been towed up the heavy staircase by Cerberus. He watches in horror as Sungjin walks into the room, Wonpil’s body in his arms. Brian sets his jaw, makes up his mind and throws his scythe, cutting the cord that hold the drapes shut before throwing himself into the half-circle of sunlight. He lets out a cry of pain as he feels the sunshine sear through his pale skin. The shadows in the room disappear, are pushed back. Jae watches, paralyzed in horror despite the fact that the web, his chains, the hand on Wonpil’s throat disappear in the light of the sun. Jae lets out a scream as smoke comes up and off of Brian’s great, black wings. Brian falls to the ground, hand outstretched, just an inch from the moonstone scythe. Sungjin dashes in and Wonpil drifts slowly back into his body, settling in like a pea back into its pod. Brian’s hand reaches the scythe, all of him aching with pain. 

Gamja laughs as he reaches a hand up,  unsheathing a sharp knife and cutting Dowoon’s cheek. Dowoon lets out a howl of pain and backs up against the wall, still snarling but obviously in pain. 

“Too little too late, brother--” 

And then there is a flash and before they know it, a large figure is draping itself over Brian--an elderly vampire, his spine slightly bent, wings curved inward. Brian finds tears filling his eyes in the momentary relief as his Maester covers him, his kind face bent in sorrow and pain. In Brian’s hands, the scythe glows opalescent, the blade shining. 

_ I’m sorry it had to be this way, Younghyun.  _

Across the room, Jae throws his shield and hops on, skating around the room and making it to the ropes in a flash, drawing the shades shut. 

_ No, Maester--we can save you-- _

Maester Mung goes limp around Brian--and then he’s reduced to smoke and ash, withering on the cold, stone floor.

Brian stands slowly, grinning as he braces himself with the scythe. The scythe looks different in his hands: sharper, bigger, the point gleaming even in the absence of light. There’a surge of wind, of opalescent light as the two unite. 

Agma slithers up in the shadow beside Gamja. “What do we do, master?” 

Brian feels the power as he swings the scythe through the air--he can suddenly see the world’s seams: the chords that bound life to time to space. He glances at Gamja who looks afraid, panic filling his eyes. 

Gamja backs away, making for the exit, wings folding behind him. 

“Going so soon, brother?” Brian grins, triumphant, getting ready to cut the cord of Gamja’s life, hanging laced black and blue.

And then there is an explosion and from the corridor, the entire room bursts open and standing outside is a vampire with wings wider and taller than Brian’s or Gamja’s, her wings a flaming red to match her hair. She is paler than death but her lips are more scarlet than a rose. In her hand is a bow and arrow that’s ablaze, the fire brighter than even her hair. Without saying, Jae can tell who it is, knows from years of researching vampires and vampire families, empires. 

_ The Countess of Karnstein.  _

On her lips is a big, cruel smile--and despite the fact that Brian utters the words  _ mother _ , all of them know she isn’t there to help him, knows that this is the true enemy, that their small quest is the beginning of a war.

“Why?” In Brian’s tone, a world of hurt. “Mother--”

She lets out a peal of laughter. “Do you think that word means anything to me? Your father was a fool to think I wouldn’t come to kill you once his protection waned. You dare rival me, you infernal thing born of reluctance and hatred?”

“I--” Brian looks awestruck, words failing him. 

“Come,” she says, holding a hand out to Gamja. “Let these fools have this dead world. Olympus will be ours for the taking soon enough.” 

Brian watches wide-eyed in horror as Gamja takes her hand and she folds her wings around him--and then they’re gone, flying down and out through the broken doors, away from the Blue Palace, Agma the blackest shadow at their heels. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter/CC: @teenuviel1227


	7. I Have Died Everyday Waiting For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try and finish this AU by tomorrow because I have a commission due this coming weekend and it’s going to be a pretty long/elaborate one. :) So stay tuned for updates. Also. Smut in this chapter. *snapsnap* Yer welcome.

They decide to stay in the castle for the morning, not willing to risk moving above ground when the sun’s up with the van as damaged and beat up as it’s gotten, with Brian being as injured as he is. Most of the guards, the soldiers, they’ve found, have left with Gamja--and those that hadn’t are reluctant to defy their Crown Prince, having been loyal servants of his father. Nonetheless, they hold themselves up in the west wing of the palace and prepare for attack as they recover, Sungjin building a barrier of dark fire around every entrance, Jae leaving his shield up by the entrance where they’ve parked the van. Dowoon takes the morning watch, leaning up behind the shield, ready to spring in case of attack.

Brian takes them into his old chambers--for the most part, it remains untouched, only cleaned up from the night of his attack but uninhabited: the same wallpaper, the same beddings, the same paintings of him and his father spanning the far wall. They’ve set up Wonpil’s bed, dragged in from the van, in the ante room. He’s hooked up to the IV but stable and awake, Sungjin unwilling to leave his side, his hand sweeping softly over his forehead in a gesture that is so tender, so intimate, that Jae and Brian both feel the need to look away.

Brian turns his attention to the pillows and blankets he’s brought out for Sungjin and Wonpil. Jae averts his gaze toward his laptop on which he’s typing up the report that they owe Jamie, the one that they’ve neglected to send for the past two days now.

_J,_

_Got the scythe. Made it to Blue Palace. However, bigger threat: find all information that you can on Countess of Karnstein. Other names: Carmilla, Mircalla. Business transactions under her name? Under umbrella organizations? Links with wolves? Possible HQs? Their target is Olympus but we’re not sure when or how they plan to do it. Wonpil kidnapped but retrieved; Brian injured but recovered. No weapons lost but van beat up. Damage assessment to follow. Plan of action: stay until evening. Hoping for info and response immediately._

_-J_

“I’m sorry,” Wonpil is whispering, stilling Sungjin’s hand with his own. “I should’ve listened to you. I said I’d never put you through that again and--”

“--it’s okay,” Sungjin says, leaning down to kiss Wonpil’s forehead. “The only thing that matters is that you’re back and you’re safe and I’m never going to let anything bad happen to you.”

“We’ll go to bed now,” Brian says to Sungjin, putting a hand on Jae’s shoulder, and nodding toward the pile of pillows and blankets he’d left out for them. “These should be more than satisfactory but let me know if you need anything.”

Jae raises an eyebrow. _So we’re still rooming together huh._ He opens his mouth to say something but his words are stilled by the memory of Brian’s body against his, the way that he’d drawn blood for him, the way that it had made him feel alive.

“Right. Night, guys.”

“Goodnight,” Sungjin says, spreading the duvet out on the floor so he can sleep beside Wonpil’s mattress.

Wonpil grins, shoots a playful glance at Jae despite the fact that exhaustion’s settled in his bones and he’s on the cusp of slumber.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Brian glances back at him.

“Don’t tell him that. You’re the most reckless person I’ve ever met.”

Wonpil wiggles his eyebrows. 

"Exactly."

 

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jae asks as they settle onto the bed--it’s soft, springy but plush, the fabric hanging from the canopy seeming to drift in an invisible breeze, making everything seem ethereal, moonlit and silver. He frowns in the darkness. “How could you just throw yourself into the sunlight like that? Are you out for a death wish?”

Brian sighs, holding a hand up in front of him, watching as the skin slowly, slowly puts itself back together. Sun damage has always been the hardest thing to heal from--it doesn’t just take time, it _hurts_ , like his skin’s glass that’s trying to solder itself back into one cohesive shape. It requires heat--heat that vampires simply don’t possess.

“I had to get the scythe. The success of our mission depends on that--”

“--if you died, Gamja would’ve gotten what he wanted,” Jae says, turning to face Brian but resisting the urge to sleep the way they’d slept since the night that they’d taken Brian in, purposefully keeping his long limbs to himself. “And he would’ve had himself bound to that damn scythe faster than you could say _Potato._ ”

The lack of touch bothers Brian more than he’s willing to admit--he’d gotten used to the warmth, the sweet, enticing scent, the soft, gentle pulsing of Jae in his arms. He turns to look at Jae: the sight of him, all sunshine skin and soft hair, worried eyes and mouth downturned into the cutest of frowns makes his heart ache.

“I doubt that,” Brian says, although he knows that his voice is skewed in gentleness, knows that he’s apologizing before he realizes he’s sorry. “The ceremony takes days and lots of patience which Gamja doesn't have. But--you’re right. I was careless. I’ve been more reckless these past few days than I’ve ever been my whole life. And it cost Maester Mung his.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jae says, relenting, putting a hand over Brian’s.

“It was,” Brian shrugs. “But thanks.”

“Bri, look, I know maybe this isn’t the time but are we going to talk about--”

“--I don’t think we should,” Brian says, his voice stern but filled with longing, with a want to not _just_ talk about it.

There’s a moment of silence between them--both of them reliving the kiss back in the van, the passion and exhilaration of it, the sensations so good for both of them but in such different ways. Jae thinks about never having felt quite so alive in his life, thinks about the sensation of his skin softly giving way to blood, softly being drained and then filled back in as he healed, thinks of the way that Brian’s lips, Brian’s body had felt so good against his: hard but sure, sturdy, wanting.

Brian thinks of the warmth of Jae, the taste of his blood--sweet but poignant, like nectar to a bee, or sugar to a child long starved of candy, lingers on how soft his lips had felt, how slick his tongue was as it curled up against the roof of Brian’s mouth, how hot and bright Jae’s skin was under his hands. Brian thinks of how pliant, how willing Jae was as their bodies curved and pressed together--the light to his shadow. Brian wonders if that’s how sunshine feels to those whom it wouldn’t destroy.

“I meant it, you know,” Jae says carefully, breaking the silence.

Brian takes a moment to respond, thinking carefully about their options, about the ways that this could go--the ways that it could go wrong.

“Meant what?”

“I can take it.” Jae lifts a hand, uses a finger to trace the profile of Brian's’ face--the slope of his forehead, the long line of his nose, the contour of his lips, his chin, his neck, the swell and dip of his Adam’s apple. “If blood’s what you need--to get going. I’m like a blood machine. Perks of being a demigod. And--if I’m perfectly honest, I--I liked it--”

Brian raises an eyebrow. “--you liked it?”

A smile works itself slow but sure across Jae’s lips.

“It takes a lot for me to feel pain, takes a lot for me to feel alive. All my life I’ve been chasing the _thrill_ of something--which is why I left Olympus, why I decided to take on the vamps. And when we--when we kissed, I think that’s the most alive I’ve ever felt.”

Brian feels desire lick at him as he thinks of Jae: pinned beneath him, heart racing, pliant and breathless.

“It could kill you,” Brian says softly, voice low with mingled desire and concern. “If I didn’t stop--however quickly you healed, I could match it and drain you--demigods might be immortal but they’re not invulnerable--”

“--if there were no danger,” Jae says, his finger lingering on the cusp of Brian’s upper lip which is half-curled in desire, the point of his fangs peeking out. “What fun would that be?”

Their eyes meet. Jae grins, pushes his finger against the tip of Brian’s tooth until blood beads on the pale flesh, the drop falling, landing on Brian’s tongue. Brian’s hands grip the sheets, the smell of it, the _taste_ of Jae intoxicating, filling all of his senses, igniting in him a hunger he hadn’t known could move like this, could come alive like this--it feels like all of him is on fire and Jae is both the source of it and the only cure. A match dropped in a blackberry field, a body of water to thrash against, into.

Jae moves quickly and Brian is too riddled with desire to move away, to rationalize what he wants--in a single movement, Jae straddles Brian, pinning him to the bed before leaning down and kissing him, soft but sure.

It’s almost too much, all of Brian’s body tensing against the mattress, against Jae’s touch.

Brian takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and knowing what he’s about to do, what he’s about to agree to despite his fears, despite the own promise he’d made to himself. _I wouldn’t put him through that._

Slowly, he sits up, scoops Jae into his arms and moves until his back is flush with the headboard, until Jae is sitting close, their foreheads almost touching, the fabric of Jae’s borrowed nightshirt loose, showing off the line of his collarbones.

_But what if he **does** like it? _

Brian tries to go slow but his deft fingers betray his desire--the buttons on Jae’s shirt are undone slow but sure, one by one, until the fabric dangles off of his shoulders. Softly, Brian brings his lips to the hollow of Jae’s neck, skimming his nose against the thin skin before Brian bares his teeth and sinks them into Jae’s pale skin until the blood blossoms. And then he drinks, lets the sensation, the nourishment run through him like lightning across metal: hot and sharp, electrifying. He holds Jae closer as Jae’s breath hitches from the sting--as he lets out a soft moan from the sensation of Brian drinking from him, the sensation of Brian’s hands on his skin, fingers pinching at the soft flesh of his nipples until they pucker, until it feels so good it hurts. Jae bucks his hips, feels his own desire rising as Brian’s own erection comes flush with the soft flesh of his butt cheeks, hard and stiff, pushing the silk of his pajamas between them.

“Brian--”

Brian’s arms grow tight around Jae’s waist, holding him down until they can both tell that the skin will bruise--the pleasure laced with pain as Jae moves, bucks his hips, searching for friction he’s barely allowed, trying to find a way to both feed and staunch the want under his skin: an itch begging to be scratched, an itch that will wound him to satisfy. Brian’s hands move, skim down Jae’s waist, releasing him only to find purchase as they pull at the fabric of his pajama bottoms, gripping until they tear at his touch. Brian lifts his mouth momentarily, lips stained red with Jae’s blood, to kiss Jae deeply, tongues moving slick against each other--iron and wine, the sweet and the salty, the metallic tang of pleasure mingling in a single movement.

“You okay?” Brian manages to ask, his voice low and guttural. He looks into Jae’s eyes and Jae feels a tingle of excitement run up his spine--Brian’s eyes are the brightest black that he’s ever seen, pupils blown wide, awake with a kind of hunger that he’d never seen before.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me the truth. If it’s too much--tell me--”

“--it’s not too much--” Jae’s heart is pounding. He touches Brian’s hand to his neck, already feels the wounds there beginning to close. “--see?”

“--but if it is--” Brian says, his touch momentarily straying, moving off of Jae and onto the sheets.

The distance, however small makes Jae feel oddly empty. _Touch me._

“--I’ll tell you if it is. Now, let’s go,” Jae says, his own hands finding the waistband of Brian’s pajamas and pulling them off, silk skimming the palest skin as Jae tosses them aside.

Brian grins--and in the swiftest of movements, pushes Jae back onto the bed. He lets his hands skim their way up his arms, biting into his wrists and drinking until Jae thrashes below him in both pain and pleasure. Brian makes his way down, drinking from Jae’s neck, his lips, the hollow of his pelvis, the soft flesh of his inner thighs.

Jae lifts his hips as Brian lets off, hovers above him, arms beating down onto the mattress which creaks beneath them.

“It’s going to hurt.” A look of concern flits across Brian’s face. “It’s--there’s no way that it’s not going to hurt--”

Jae grins, lifting a hand to stroke Brian achingly slow.

Brian shivers at the heat, at the pulse coursing through Jae’s already-healing skin. Softly, Jae  pushes Brian’s hand down between his legs. His cock is throbbing, leaking.

“--can you feel that, Bri? How much I fucking want you in me? Please.”

“Jae--”

“--fuck me, Brian.” Jae pulls Brian down toward him, nipping at his lower lip before licking into his mouth.

Brian lets out a moan as their erections come flush, as Jae holds him close, grinds against him.

“--Brian--”

Brian doesn’t need to be told--be parts Jae’s legs and crashes into him with all his strength. And Brian’s right: it hurts. Jae lets out a whimper of pain, his voice cracking, his arms coming up to cling onto Brian for dear life. And yet, even as the pain hits him, it already starts to dissipate, he already starts to heal into the stretch, already adapts, pleasure pooling in his gut as Brian pounds into him.

Brian is breathing heavily now, tongue sliding up a wound he’s opened in Jae’s neck, no longer needing to suck but simply lapping at the blood that trickles slower and slower as the cut closes.

“Jae--oh god, that’s so--you’re fucking incredible--”

Brian thinks that he might die--sure, he’s had intercourse before, but always only with vampires, only with Powder Blue or blood pilfered from hospitals to incite arousal. It had never been with someone warm, someone pulsing and slick, someone tight and pliant at the same time, someone who felt this good, who clenches around him with every push and cries out with every pull, holding him by wrapping his long legs around him. Jae’s hands run across his back, scratching as they go, and Brian reaches between Jae’s legs to stroke him, to help with release, with pleasure to make up for the pain.

“--oh god--Brian--I’m going to cum--”

Brian isn’t ready. Jae spurts between them and the scent of it drives Brian, the warmth so hot he feels like it should burn. And then suddenly, Jae’s heart beat is stuttering like mad, the _thudthudthudthudthud_ of it the most beautiful sound that Brian’s ever heard.

“--I need to feed to do that,” Brian whispers softly against Jae’s ear. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay--”

“--okay,” Jae says, nodding, his hair plastered to his temples. “Okay.”

And with that, Brian bites into Jae’s neck, deeper than before, drinking his fill as he thrusts into Jae harder, deeper. Jae relishes the sensations, takes in what he can glimpse of Brian’s face as he drinks from Jae--brows furrowed, eyes dark with lust, sweat (which he realizes he’d never seen on Brian before) dripping down his temples and onto Jae’s chest. It’s cold but there’s something sexy about it nonetheless, something seductive about the way that it mats Brian’s hair to his forehead. The mattress creaks, judders in its frame, the canopy cloth swinging like sails in a storm as Brian bottoms Jae out, his chin running red with Jae’s blood. To Brian, it’s like being in a trance, in a tunnel, moving forward, pushing and pushing and pushing until you grasp the light.

He feels it coming, the light blooming before him.

Jae feels his head spin, starts to feel dizzy as the room tilts and dips around him.

“--Brian,” Jae gasps, the blood training fast, too fast. “Oh fuck, Bri--soon, please--I don’t think I can last--”

It takes all of Brian’s energy to pull off of Jae’s skin, to stop himself from drinking Jae dry as he cums inside him, his whole body shuddering, trembling in the heat, the wet warmth. His voice breaks as he cries out, tensing a last time before collapsing onto Jae, breathless. Jae smiles, then, his world slowly settling itself back into place, the room beginning to still.

Jae looks up at Brian’s who’s looking at him with a concerned look on his face.

“You okay?”

“You really _are_ crazy.”

Brian smiles that small, sheepish smile that Jae’s taken to know means he would be blushing if he could. “I--was it good?”

Jae pulls Brian in and kisses him softly, brushing Brian’s sweaty hair back from his forehead.

“It was the most amazing thing in the world.”

“Good.” Brian smiles, relieved. He glances at the blood-stained sheets, Jae’s ripped pajamas, the stuffing peeking out from the pillows. “But this place is a mess.”

Jae shrugs. “I don’t really care. As long as you’re here in the mess with me.”

Brian feels his heart flood with tenderness. “Come here.”

Slowly, Brian gets off Jae to lie beside him, hold him close. Jae entwines their legs, rests his cheek against Brian’s. And then there’s a sound like a thick blanket being unravelled too quickly and Jae realizes Brian’s unfurled his wings around them, still healing from the sun, but well enough to curl around the both of them, ensconcing them softly.

“Jae?”

“Mmmmm?”

“You’re the closest to sunlight I’ll ever get.”

Jae grins softly, planting a kiss on top of Brian’s forehead. “Good. Now get some sleep.”  


 

“Hyungie--OH MY GOD NO--HYUNG!!! MY EYES!!!!!!” Dowoon lets out a blood-curdling scream as he opens the door to find Jae and Brian sleeping, Brian’s wings brought around them but curling around their bare shoulders. The bed is littered with torn clothing and blood, the room smelling like sex and sweat.

Brian frowns, blinking before reaching over to throw a pillow at Dowoon. “Is it evening yet? If not, get out.”

Dowoon jumps out of the way. “Ewww that’s your--your sex pillow!”

Jae opens his eyes, looks up at Brian. “What’s a sex pillow?”

Brian laughs, leans down to kiss Jae. “No idea.”

Jae giggles, buries his nose in the crook of Brian’s neck.

“AHA!” Dowoon lets out a low growl. “I _knew_ you were looking at him weird!”

“Look, kid,” Jae says, sitting up. “Adults do stuff, alright? You’ll understand when you’re older--”

“--sorry to interrupt the love fest--holy shit what the fuck did you guys do? Offer your souls to Satan?” Sungjin says, eyes wide as he comes in through the door frame, a pot of coffee from the van in one hand.

“He doesn’t technically _live_ among us anymore,” Brian explains.

“It was an expression, pervert,” Sungjin chides as he takes in the dried blood on the sheets, putting a hand on Dowoon’s shoulder to steer him out of the room. “But anyway. Get dressed and into the van. We’ve got an urgent message from Jamie.”  


 

“Holy fuck,” Jae says, frowning at the message on the screen, at the images attached: fires, chaos, people shot in the street. “These fucking assholes.”

“It’s crazy,” Sungjin says, flipping through the rest of Jamie’s short, staccato messages. “But they’re still alive. We’ve got a sliver of hope.”

Wonpil clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Remember when this used to be a fucking drug-bust and not a damn quest to save the world? How the hell did we get here?”

“You met us,” Brian says. “Sorry about that.”

Jae shrugs, blushing. “I don’t mind.”

Dowoon and Sungjin roll their eyes but Wonpil shoots Jae a thumbs-up.

“What are we going to do?” Dowoon asks, frowning at the photos that Sungjin’s pulling up.

Brian sighs, reading the messages on the screen.

_J,_

_Attacked. Wolves + vampires. Red-head queen. Killed so many people. Stole artifacts from 3 museums, took a lot of our tech. Hiding underground. Hurry._

_Powder Blue laced with cyanide. So many dead. Politicians kidnapped._

_I think message in last photo is for you._

_-J._

With a trembling hand, Sungjin pulls up the last photo. In the picture, dead bodies are piled up by the city square with the Kang Corp logo spray-painted on them in bright blue. On the wall behind them, in paint so fresh the letters are still bleeding red: _Olympus is ours._   

“Motherfucker,” Jae says, frowning.

Sungjin claps a hand on his shoulder. “Apt expression. Also--better yours than mine.”

Brian raises an eyebrow. “Am I missing something?”

Jae groans, moving to set coordinates on the console.

“Looks like we’re going to have to pay a visit to my dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have four (4) slots open for commissions. You can check it out here: https://twitter.com/teenuviel1227/status/1016158507526000643
> 
> Twitter/CC: @teenuviel1227


	8. Darling, Don’t Be Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've locked everything to the archive. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter~

Jae had always loved vampire stories--as far as he was concerned,  _ those  _ were way more interesting than anything that ever happened on Olympus. Sure, for some people Olympus was great: for his half-brother Hercules, for example, who everyone swooned over, and who’d pretty much commandeered one of the family pantheons exclusively for orgies, it was great living in utopia: it was pleasure and  _ more more more  _ of it. For gods with a shitton of responsibilities like their family friend Thor, who usually came over from Asgard to borrow a coliseum or two in which to hide some of the girls that he was scared Loki (banned from Olympus, as per restricting order #852455258) would steal from his grasp--usually girls he met while doing drills with Mjolnir (who Jae still found it odd people referred to like a  _ person _ when he/it was definitely still a hammer last time he checked)--Olympus was a sanctuary. Good air, great infrastructure, food and drink available everywhere, in free-flowing quantities. 

Not that Jae hadn’t tried things out, hadn’t made the most of his “ideal” situation--he’d known pretty much from the onset that he liked guys, and sure as hell wasn’t going to procreate to give his offspring the same sad life he had. He’d romped around with some of the other demigods (the ones he was  _ sure _ weren’t his cousins or step-relations), had even flirted with some mortals who were in Olympus for some deal or celebration or other such engagement of divine proportions. But in the end, everything bored him: there’d been no real lasting connection, nothing to hold onto. 

Because as ideal a place as Olympus was in general, for someone like Jae, who’d gotten his temper and shit attention span from his dad and stubbornness from his mom was not just mortal but died giving birth to him and whose spirit  _ then  _ somehow decided to get it on with his uncle, the God of the Underworld himself, Olympus was his version of hell. 

For one thing, he was always being held hostage by his dad as a bargaining chip with his Uncle Hades: it was always  _ if you don’t free Persephone this instant, I swear to god, I’ll petition to have Jae guard the gates instead of Sungjin _ or  _ if you don’t give me the spare key to the Titans’ cell, I’ll have Jaehyung fly down there on his Pegasus and combat Sungjin and that stupid three-headed-dog. _

Because of that and the fact that his dad, Mr. God of Sky and Thunder himself--which always confused Jae because his weapons were  _ lightning  _ bolts for crying out loud and they didn’t even make any sound--was a sore loser, Jae always found himself in limbo: with too little responsibility to actually have a proper life because he needed to be at hand in case his dad had some bone to pick with Hades (at this point he would’ve taken helping Eros nock the arrow on his stupid love bow) and yet, too much to actually have fun with his free time (his one stable duty which took up a good chunk of time was to fly the metal that Hermes  _ insisted _ he couldn’t lift even if Jae had once seen him lift a whole building when he wanted to, from the steel mill down to Hephaestus (ah, yet another half-brother)’s forge). 

The one thing that Jae liked was when he was actually sent down to the underworld to fight or pretend-fight with Sungjin--because although he’d never admit it, Sungjin was the only one who understood him properly. While his Uncle Hades was  _ definitely  _ the cool uncle and someone he would go and live with in a heartbeat if given the chance, Jae had to admit he wasn’t much better than Zeus when it came to not treating his kids like pawns. 

For one thing, Sungjin and Jae’s mom, even as a soul, even being pampered in a castle in the underworld, was extremely stubborn and Hades had given up on fighting with her somewhere between Sungjin’s 70th birthday and Cerberus being born--for that, he used Sungjin as a go-between, a tether on which they could air their grievances, their dirty laundry. Also, ironically, while Sungjin’s situation was almost the inverse of Jae’s in that he had no siblings, they found themselves in strikingly similar situations: Sungjin, like Jae, pretty much had no one to talk to. 

So both of them turned to books, scripture, scrolls, whatever the hell they could find, and traded the merchandise between them. It was their version of bonding via contraband--Jae handing over dirty stories he’d stolen from Aphrodite’s smut files when his dad sent him over to clear the servers, Sungjin slipping Jae horror stories from the Nephilim archives. In that way, despite the quarreling and the forced competition, despite the fact that they only saw each other once every full moon and lightning storm, every few eclipses and hot-tempered-fire-attack-on-the-gates-of-Olympus, they were more brothers to each other than they let on. Only they knew the other’s exact prison, only they knew the precise loneliness of being gods with nothing to rule over, of being only human enough to feel pain--and so only they’d found a way to set each other free.

And when Sungjin had runaway, stealing Wonpil off over the river and into the labyrinth, he’d freed Jae too--because for once their fathers were united in the task of bringing Sungjin back.   
  


 

“I don’t think he can do it,” Hades said, frowning, his dark eyes watching, scrutinizing Jae from head to toe. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re a cool kid, Jae, but this isn’t just flying the Pegasus across town to Heph or heading down to the Golden Woods to have a joint, you know? We’re talking about going down to Earth where there’s traffic and murderers and all that kind of thing.” 

Jae rolled his eyes. “Come on, Uncle H. I mean, really, who else are you going to put down there that Sungjin’s going to trust? It’s a move out of left field. He’ll never expect you to send  _ me _ . The fuckin’ fates maybe, but not me.” 

Jae looked across the room at his dad’s stern face, Zeus’ gaze moving lightning-quick between Jae and Hades as he processed how the argument was going and Jae knew from his hesitation, from that pause before he spoke that he’d won--his father’s one weakness: he couldn’t  _ not  _ disagree with his brother. 

“The kid has a point,” Zeus said, coiling his hand around air and conjuring one of Hephaestus’ shields. He tosses it to Jae who catches it and thinks  _ frisbee _ , the shield shrinking until it’s small enough for him to clip onto the clasp on his belt. “We should send him.”

Hades rolled his eyes. “Listen to yourself. You’re just saying it to argue with me--” 

“--you’re overestimating yourself.” Zeus frowned. Around them, lightning started to crackle in the sky. “I wouldn’t compromise my own son’s safety for the sake of winning an argument.” 

Jae snickered to himself.  _ It’s too easy.  _ “Look, guys--if you don’t want me to go--” 

“--Jae,” Zeus warned, his tone stern. 

“See?” Hades said, gesturing toward Jae. “He doesn’t even  _ want _ to really go, he’s just bluffing--”

“--you calling my son a coward?” 

With that, Zeus struck his lightning bolt across the room, opening a portal. He lifted a hand and the wind sang through the room, conjuring Pegasus--his coat so white it shone like marble in the room, his wings bright and pale, outspread as he clambered down from the sky. 

“You know how the bike function works, right, son?”

Jae tried not to roll his eyes at the endearment that he knows is just for Hades’ benefit. 

“Sure,  _ Dad _ ,” Jae said, climbing aboard, stroking Pegasus’ mane twice and whispering  _ by the power of Zeus, quiet down _ and Pegasus let out a neigh before transforming with a flash into a bright white motorbike with sleek, silver finishings. Jae climbed aboard, eyes unable to stray from the portal open before them, from the promise of  _ something else.  _ “Geez, I’m not  _ twelve. _ ”

“Okay,” Zeus said, nodding. “When you need to get back, just open the portal where it lets you down. I’ll leave it loose.”

“Got it.” 

“Don’t make me regret this.” 

Hades sighed. “Oh, he  _ will. _ ”

“I’m off then.” Jae grinned. His uncle always  _ had _ known him better. He grinned at them, raising two fingers in a faux-salute. He revved the engine, took his shield from behind and tossed it into the portal, thinking  _ all the way until Earth _ as it stretched long and wide as a bridge into the light. “Catch you both later.” 

_ See you never, assholes.  _

  
  


“It’ll be  _ fine, _ ” Sungjin says to Jae for the nth time, unsure if he’s trying to convince Jae--or himself. He’s admittedly feeling a bit uneasy about heading to Olympus himself: after all, wherever Zeus is, argue as they might, Hades is sure to eventually follow. Sungjin sighs, glancing out at the night sky as the van rolls across the plains. 

They’re headed to the spot where the portal had opened, Jae trying to remember it exactly (he’d spent so much time actively avoiding it), trying to remember just  _ how  _ to open a damn portal (he hadn’t exactly planned on going back).

“Of course it’ll be fine. Except for the fact that I know he won’t listen to me,” Jae says, clicking his tongue. “He’s going to give me a three-hour sermon before he even begins to let me explain what I was  _ doing _ at the Blue Palace.” 

“Or,” Brian interjects, stroking Dowoon’s hair as he lays in his lap. “Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe my mom will already have stormed your dad’s kingdom so you won’t even have to explain anything.” 

“See, when  _ that’s  _ the brightside,” Wonpil says, walking up to the small makeshift table with their dinner--soup and vegetables, much to Dowoon’s dismay, along with a bag of cold blood for Brian. “You know we’re really, and truly fucked.” 

“People with parents are weird,” Dowoon says, frowning. “I don’t remember mine and people in the dungeon--well, the ones that weren’t eaten immediately--always said that it was sad but I’m kind of relieved. They sound terrible.” 

“Yeah,” Jae shrugs, glances at Brian. “Not exactly how I envisioned meeting the parents, huh?”

Brian grinned, put an arm around Jae, much to Dowoon’s annoyance. “To be fair, I expected to marry into one of the Nephil noble families and go my whole life without love or passion, so I’ll take this over that anyday--” 

Sungjin pretends to vomit into his bowl of soup. 

“--right in front of my soup?”

Wonpil laughs but his eyes are bright--Brian can tell he’s reading Sungjin’s mind. 

“Like you’re not nervous about what your dad’s going to say.” 

Sungjin frowns. “No fair. No scrying at dinner.” 

“Oh fuck--” Jae’s mid-sip from his bowl of suit when he hears it, knows they’re there, feels it in his gut. He closes his eyes, feels lightning surge through his fingertips--and above them, lightning crackles across the clouds and the night sky splits open. He takes a deep breath, resigned. “--we’re here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have four (4) slots open for commissions. You can check it out here: https://twitter.com/teenuviel1227/status/1016158507526000643
> 
> Twitter: @teenuviel1227


	9. I Have Loved You For A Thousand Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re almost to the end. :’( Time flies too quickly. Thank you guys for sitting through this with me!

“Are you afraid?” Brian asks Jae softly, brushing Jae’s fringe away from his eyes. The van has gone through the portal and come out at the foot of Mount Olympus. They’re pushing their way up the mountain  slowly but surely, toward the glimmering city at its apex. 

Jae and Brian are in their bedroom, sitting side by side on the cramped bed: getting ready, waiting for the sun to set. Time moves differently in Olympus--slower, more languidly than on Earth, taking its time, not having any reason to rush--and as they’d gone through the portal and arrived at the base of the mountain, it’d taken Jae a moment to remember that it wouldn’t be evening yet, the gold disc in the sky would wait until Ares arrived to tuck it in, send it to bed. He’d had to pull Brian back into their bedroom to keep him safe as sunlight filtered in through the windshield, through the windows of the much-battered van’s common area. Brian can feel the heat radiating from outside despite the metal blinds that keep him safe. Jae frowns, can tell from the way that Brian squints a little, the way he flinches as the van lurches forward that he has yet to fully recover from the burns he’d sustained in the Room of Dawn. 

“Are you hurt?” Jae smiles, taking Brian’s hand in his and kissing it, answering a question with a question because he doesn’t want to answer it properly, doesn’t want to burden Brian with all of his petulant demigod angst. 

Brian tilts Jae’s chin up so that their gazes are level. “Nice try. What’s eating you?”

Jae shrugs, leans his head slowly on Brian’s shoulder, thinking about the battles to come, about everything they’d gone through, about how far away the firehouse and their daily routines of take out and research and chiding each other and sending wolves to the pound and vanquishing vampires seemed now. 

“In a way,” Jae answers, lacing their fingers together. “I’m terrified of everything. And Olympus is kind of the place where all of that fear comes from. Some people say that the scariest thing is to have everything because you have everything to lose. But that’s not true. The scariest thing is having nothing to fight for--”

“--are you scared of war?” Brian frowns, turns to look at Jae--usually so bright it’s electric, usually so sure of himself, now faltering, his lower lip quivering. 

“I’m not afraid of the war itself,” Jae smiles, cups Brian’s cheek before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss onto his lips. “I’m afraid of what we’ll have to lose defending a place I hate. I’ve never had anything--well, anyone, to lose before and I swear to god, if you die I’ll never forgive you.”

“I won’t die,” Brian says, rolling his eyes. “Gamja’s success rate at killing me’s pretty shitty. I mean sure, maybe if we were up against the archangels or some other creeps like that but it’s just Gamja, my mother, a bunch of ghouls, an evil shadow thing, and a vampire-wolf army. We’ll be fine.”

Jae lets out a soft laugh despite himself. “Sure we will.”

Brian squeezes Jae’s hand. This time it’s Brian who leans in, kisses Jae long and soft and certain. 

“We will.”   
  


 

Olympus is the same as Jae remembers it: everything ivory and gold, set alight with the deep golden sunshine of the setting sun that glimmers off of every perfect, stolid surface. Every pale cobblestone is perfectly paved and set, every lawn manicured, every flower particularly grown and placed just-right: framing an entryway, arching over a bridge, dangling from a balcony. 

Jae sighs as they roll into the city, already seeing the roof of his father’s pantheon in the distance, rising out of the landscape like a big, white tooth.  _ Great. Back to Pleasantville.  _ The outskirts kiss the clouds, the landscape winding higher and higher still--and then the rest of the buildings push far above them, the brightest whites and burnt yellows against a backdrop of cerulean blue. 

“You ready?” Sungjin asks, a small smirk on his lips.

“I’ll never be ready.”

“Mmmm.”

Sungjin looks relaxed but Jae can tell that being here is making him antsy too: he can’t sit still, keeps checking and re-checking his arrows, his vials, even if nothing could have changed within the last two minutes or so that had passed since he’d last checked.

Jae is paralyzed with fear but is trying hard not to show it. He’d always been big on the mischief, not so good at the  _ actually dealing _ with the consequences thing--and if there’s something that he knows Zeus can do, it’s  _ yell _ . He glances at Wonpil, who’s sitting next to Dowoon, both of them pressing their faces up against the windows, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at everything they pass: goddesses in loose dresses and pantsuits with fabric that flows and falls like seafoam, gods riding into town in horseless chariots, their long hair often bound in ponytails that drift in an invisible wind, a satyr making a shipment of Ambrosia in a flying goat-drawn carriage headed right for a vineyard. 

First, he would have to explain why he hadn't been back in almost ten years. And then he’d have to explain what he was doing here with Sungjin and Wonpil and provide some reason for his dad  _ not  _ to call Hades and  _ then  _ explain the whole thing about the Vampire-Werewolf coalition and the Powder Blue and how somehow, despite her lack of interest in Nephilim politics, the Countess of Karnstein was responsible for everything. He glances toward his and Brian’s room where Brian has decided to sleep the rest of the sunset away.

_ Right. So. Dad. In addition to all of that, this is my boyfriend, Brian. He’s also the Crown Prince of the Blue Kingdom. Would you mind maybe not stripping me of power and exiling us? See, lots of people and Vampires want me dead so the no lightning and no shield thing is going to be a problem.  _ Jae sighs, looks out the window and watches as his father’s pantheon looms closer and closer. He’s watching, Jae knows, can  _ feel  _ it in his gut, can almost see him sitting on his throne, the crease between his brows growing deeper and deeper as they come closer and closer still. 

As if on cue, he watches as Ares drives his gleaming chariot across the sky, the sunlight moving slowly away with him, peeling off like a tapestry after a banquet, leaving the black, star-studded night sky in its wake. 

Lightning cracks across the sky directly above Zeus’ pantheon, turning the facade a startling bright white. Jae flinches, caught off guard. 

Jae meets Sungjin’s eye.

Sungjin sighs and Jae knows that he’s worried about the same things--and in particular, about Wonpil, about the possibility of having to lose him again. 

“Big guy’s home, huh,” Sungjin says, frowning.

“Guess so,” Jae replies, shooting him a weak smile. “We’re in for a shitshow.”   
  


 

“Well, well, well,” Zeus says, voice booming as they roll in to his throne room, Jae and Sungjin alighting to meet him, Wonpil, Brian, and Dowoon staying behind to get ready. “Look what the cat dragged in.” 

The throne room is high-ceilinged and bare but elegant: the stone the palest marble, the tapestries that line the columns the richest violets. Zeus is sitting on his throne, playing with lightning between his hands like one would a rubber band. The light casts shadows on his face, makes his blue eyes more like the color of the sky than Jae has ever seen. His heart is pounding, palms sweaty.

Sungjin and Jae both discard their weapons at his feet out of courtesy, Jae frowning as he takes off his shield, lays down his lightning bolts.  _ Please don’t let this be the last time. _ Sungjin sets his crossbow down but Jae notices he doesn’t relieve himself of the darts, the poisoned arrows. 

They bow formally.

“Father.”

“Uncle.” 

“Oh, stop with the ridiculous formalities. For fuck’s sake, straighten up.” 

They both stand straight. Jae watches his father’s face--still young, as always, with a high brow and a jaw Jae knows could axe Little Red Riding Hood out of even the sturdiest wooden closet. His jaw is set, stern, but his eyes are curious. Jae is already turning the motives around in his head, trying to find a way to spin the story, to get what they need out of it.

_ He wants to know why we’re here. _

“You take that soul back to your old man, yet, Sungjin? He’s been livid for ten years and I’ve had to suffer for it and tell me you’re going to make it up to me by giving him back. Without you two it’s been torture getting him to do what I want--”

“--still selfish--” Jae mutters under his breath.

“--says the kid who stole a Pegasus, Olympic weapons, and never so much as wrote a letter.” 

“That’s kind of what happens when you runaway,” Jae says pointedly. “The point is to  _ stay  _ lost.” 

“You always were a smart mouth. So what  _ did  _ you learn, prodigal son? You make yourself useful? Find a couple of concubines? You want to take after Hercules now? Rent a pantheon for your philandering?” 

“It’s only philandering if you’re committed to someone--I thought you of all people would know that,” Jae snaps. “And excuse you, Dad, but I learned to fight and  _ kill  _ vampires. I'm only  _ the  _ best vampire hunter in Seoul.” 

“Seoul, huh,” Zeus muses, a look of fondness coming over his face. “So you got curious about your mother’s heritage--”

“--also, the boys are hot,” Jae says, grinning, knowing how off-putting his father finds his cockiness, his careless demeanor.

Zeus looks at him and grins back. It catches Jae off guard, wipes the smile right off his face.

“You realize you got that technique from me,” Zeus says pointedly. “Now why are you here--”

“--we have some news,” Sungjin says. “The Blue Palace has committed treason. Kang Gamja, illegitimate son to the previous Blue King, and the Countess of Karnstein are planning an attack on Olympus. We--”

“--ah. So  _ that’s  _ the smell,” Zeus says, his gaze landing on the van. His lip curls into a frown. A line forms between his brows. “Blue blood.”

Thunder booms. 

“You two  _ know _ they’re not allowed past the gates! How dare you take one of those--”

“--he’s  _ different, _ ” Jae says, stepping forward, his voice cutting. “He’s the Crown Prince and Gamja tried to burn him alive and the Moonstone Scythe--”

“--idiots!” Zeus lifts a hand to smite the van but Jae jumps, snatches the bolt right out of his hand. 

“Would you  _ listen _ \--”

“--that scythe could end us all. It can cut through  _ anything _ . Hades was an idiot to trust them with it--” 

“--you know who wants to actually cut your precious little immortal life with that fucking scythe?” Jae knows he’s shouting now, knows that his father is madder at him than ever, but he figures they’d come all this way and it’s worth a try. “Gamja, that’s who. He wants to rule this fucking mountain, god knows why, but yeah. If you’re going to worry about any vampire, it’s got to be that one and the Countess.” 

Zeus raises an eyebrow. “Very well. I’m unconvinced but tell me--” 

And just then, there’s a giant boom somewhere toward the gates of the city. There’s the sound of screams, there’s the squeaking of wagons and the stomping of hooves.

“--they’re here,” Sungjin says. “We have to act.”

Jae turns to Zeus. “Dad, please. We need you to back us up on this and trust me, I wouldn’t want to save your ass either--but one of us has to do it--and Brian--I mean Kang Younghyun, vampire prince is kind of counting on us to save the world so if you wouldn’t mind--” 

Zeus meets Jae’s gaze. “--after the battle, you and I will settle this and the consequences of your behavior. This isn’t approval or forgiveness. Understood?”

Jae bites back the urge to say something quick and offensive. 

“Understood.”

“Very well. Take your weapons.” 

And with that, Zeus casts a red lightning bolt from his quiver into the night sky--and Ares catches it as he tracks his chariot across the sky in a flash. Slowly, the dark night peels away and the red moon is a sign as sure as sunrise: we are at war. He leaps into the night, making for the armory.

Sungjin loads his crossbow. Jae clicks his shield into place, slips his lightning bolt into his sleeve, lets electricity crackle between his hands. He checks his holsters for his wooden stakes--sharpened, tipped in holy water, as lethal as lethal can get.

All over the city, lights flicker on one by one, substituting the bright, clean light for fire. 

If Jae closes his eyes, he can hear it--the sounds coming up from the forge: steel singing.

Sungjin and Jae look at each other, grin. 

“Ready, Bob?” Jae grins, whistling low. With that, Pegasus and Cerberus burst out of the van--Pegasus gleaming white, wings outspread as she takes flight, Cerberus dark as night, his fur gleaming as he leaps toward them, Wonpil on his back, already armed with his guns, his bow and arrows. 

Brian emerges next, wings outstretched and wide, eyes the brightest black, tinged red in the light. He grins, taking flight as he wields his scythe. It catches the red moonlight. Lightning crackles. At his heels, Dowoon breaks out into a run and transforms, sinew giving way to bulk, his gentle features giving way to a long snout, teeth sharpening to a point, clothes tearing away to reveal powerful muscles, tensed, ready to spring.

“As I’ll ever be.” Sungjin grins, hopping onto Cerberus. "And don't call me that." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have two (2) slots open for commissions. You can check it out here: https://twitter.com/teenuviel1227/status/1016158507526000643
> 
> Twitter/CC: @teenuviel1227


	10. I’ll Love You For A Thousand More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sing me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. Epilogue to follow soon, but fic proper ends here. :)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read and commented and kudos-ed on this fic! I hope you guys enjoyed it and that the ending is just as fun to read. See you guys in the next one. :D

Brian is a number of contradictions in the moments on the cusp of war: terrified but exhilarated, exhausted but more ready for the fight than ever. He clenches the moonstone scythe in his grip, can feel the rage pulsing in his bones--his heart can’t beat but he thinks of the hands of a clock ticking at the center of him instead, every click of the hands helping him re-live a notch in the bedpost of his suffering, all of the different points in time building up to this moment: the sight of his father sitting dead on the Blue throne with his blood running thick and dark done his white robes, the feeling of ice in his gut as he realized that he’d been betrayed, the sting of hunger and pain as he and Dowoon lived down in the dungeons, nursing each other’s hurts, the feeling of Maester Mung’s body crumbling into ash above him as the sun seared into them both, the overwhelming wave of hurt that hit him as he’d seen his mother coming to aid his arch enemy. 

He glances at Jae, who’s waiting beside him--hair blowing in the breeze, cheeks pink from the evening wind, eyes serious and soft mouth downturned as he sits astride on the Pegasus, now in its animal form, white wings resplendent under the red moon. Brian thinks of everything that he has now: not just his kingdom but also the love of his life, also his friends, his family--Sungjin, Wonpil, Dowoon, everyone that he has to protect. 

_ I won’t let them fail when they’ve sacrificed so much for me.  _

They’re standing on the pantheon steps, watching everything come together, waiting for Zeus to sound the trumpets, to give them their commands, waiting for the defenses at the gates to fall or else be commanded to let the intruders in, to let the games begin. For now, the protection holds, for now there’s nothing but the boom of thunder and the sound of stone against metal in the forge. It’s a splendid albeit terrible sight and Brian is loathe to admit it but it rouses a kind of bloodlust in him, a thirst for battle, for violence, a visceral hunger that he was always convinced he hadn’t inherited from his people: everywhere, gods and goddesses, demigods, mortals in thrall, everyone marching astride their beasts, everywhere, great warriors riding toward the pantheon and the gates. 

In a nearby tower, Hermes lifts a latch and golden birds are set free--to ask for aid from other kingdoms: a message in a crystalline bottle for Poseidon of the oceans, a scroll inscribed with indelible ink for the Nordic gods of Asgard, stones covered with runes asking for aid for the creatures ruled by Gaea down on Earth. Above them, Ares flies across the sky in his chariot, rallying Olympian warriors on as they fly behind him on their eagles, their sphinxes, their winged steeds, and rain arrows down on the enemy waiting at the gates. 

From where he’s standing, Brian can see just over the top of the line of archers: he can see Gamja with his eyes that look so much like Brian’s glaring at the gates as he sits astride his dead steed, can see his mother with her hair red as blood flowing from beneath her helmet of bone-white as she stands in her chariot, one hand on the reigns of her ferocious hounds, the other poised to give her command, eyes burning with greed. Behind them, an army of blue bloods and werewolves trained as soldiers, ghouls and spirits roused from hell, howl and rally and bolster the iron post with which they’re ramming the gates. 

Brian tightens his grip on the moonstone scythe. 

He wonders if this war will make a murderer of him, if he will have to add King-killer and Mother-murderer to his list of titles. Or if he’ll simply be  _ dead _ . He thinks of Jae again: Jae, soft and pliant beneath him, Jae all sweet blood and honeyed sighs. 

For that, he would fight harder than he has all his life.

_ Whatever it takes.  _

Brian glances back at the pantheon, watches as Zeus steps out onto the landing next to them. He feels a tremor of fear, a flare of indignance. He knows that there is more hinging on this battle than life or death--it’s also a war for approval, also setting the bar, the premise for  _ if  _ they make it out alive: for the kind of life that he can give Jae, that he wants to have with Jae. 

On the other side of Brian, Sungjin sits astride Cerberus, assessing the lay of the land, trying to see where to best trap the enemy: the forge would be good because there was fire, but the center of the capital would do too if the sun could rise quickly enough. Wonpil is sitting behind him, preparing his poisoned darts, his bow and arrow--this time, the two of them refuse to be separated. 

“Sungjin,” Zeus’s voice booms as he steps out onto the stairway, clad in his armor of gold-laced steel. 

Sungjin guides Cerberus up toward him, the three-headed dog making it to the top in two bounds.. “Uncle?”

“You know there’s one place that the birds cannot fly.” Zeus frowns, nodding toward a smaller gate behind the pantheon--a gate leading down toward a wide, steep stairwell. “We need him--we need his help,  _ your _ help if we have any shot at winning this--” 

“--anything but that--”

“--he won’t listen to anyone but you and you know it.” 

“Maybe in times past, but not now. Not after the thing with Wonpil.” Sungjin frowns, feeling Wonpil shift uneasily behind him, arms tightening around Sungjin’s waist. “And before you say it, I refuse to give him up to win this stupid war.” 

“Leave him in Jae’s care or in the care of the wolf,” Zeus says. “Deal with your father, ask him to come to our aid or there’s no point in even fighting. The Nephilim are creatures of the darkness, they prey on life to feed their refusal of death. We need death to be on our side if we’re going to win this.” 

Sungjin frowns, meets Brian’s eye. 

“He’s right.” Brian says. Zeus raises an eyebrow at his agreement. “This scythe was a gift from death, a gift from the fates. We can’t win this alone. And if the underworld sides with them--well then, it’s over.” 

Wonpil smiles, kisses Sungjin’s cheek. “You should go. They’ll take care of me, I’ll be fine.” 

Jae gallops up the steps on Pegasus. “He can ride with me.”

Wonpil climbs off of Cerberus. 

The crease between Sungjin’s eyebrows deepens. “No projection, alright?”

“Alright,” Wonpil says. “Promise.” 

Sungjin leans in to kiss him but Wonpil shakes his head, knowing how Sungjin thinks--knowing that in that kiss would be a  _ what if _ , an examination of possible failure. Instead he cups Sungjin’s cheek, brushing his thumb against the softness of his skin. Sungjin leans into Wonpil’s touch, savoring his warmth, his tenderness.

“Please--”

“--save it for when you return.”

Sungjin nods, finding his resolve as Wonpil pulls away. He puts a hand on Cerberus, braces himself to meet his father. He glances at Brian and then at Jae, at Dowoon.

“Trap them in the furnace--or in the square. They’re the places where they’ll burn the easiest. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.” 

Jae nods. “Got it, baby Bro.”

And for once, Sungjin doesn’t protest.

  
  


Sungjin had forgotten just how dark and how deep, how winding and twisty and narrow, how pale and silvery-gray, how hushed, how peaceful, how silent everything in the underworld is: as he makes the final left and makes his way out of the Labyrinth, electricity runs up his spine at the sight of the minotaur waiting at the end of it--his slow movement seeming brash and sudden after the stillness of the maze.

“He will not see you,” the minotaur says, his voice cool and low, smooth as stone, still as death. His eyes are deep like wells where the water is too far off to see even the smallest hint of a sheen. “He has denied you passage.”

“I’m not asking,” Sungjin says. “I’m demanding to be let through.”

“You do not command me.” 

Sungjin pulls his crossbow from where it’s fastened behind him. “Isn’t it true that whoever holds the bow of the crossing of the divine waters has dominion over you, beast?” 

“Your gave that up when you stole the soul from the River Styx.”

Sungjin sighs. “Well, tell him that he better see me because I have a better bargain for him than any mortal soul.”

The minotaur shifts, his eyes burning a bright blue--and Sungjin knows that his father is speaking through the beast.

“What could you possibly offer me after all of the injury you’ve caused? The rivers run unguarded, the gates have been starving for souls, the disorder in the balance of death and the fates have been upset. The Eye of Fate is pale for want of a promised life--” 

“--I understand,” Sungjin says. “But there’s a war happening on the mountain. We need your help. The dead versus the undead, life and death righted. We need you--” 

“--war also makes for death. Blood loss from the mortals, the wolves, will do nicely for the river, maybe help tip the balance that you so carelessly destroyed--” 

“--I’ll offer you a life that will right my wrongs,” Sungjin says. “On the condition that you aid us in our fight.”

“What deal are you talking about?” 

“My immortality,” Sungjin says. “If you help us, it’s yours. I’ll live a mortal life, die a mortal death. You can use the blood-promise of my soul to restore balance. And when I die, well, my soul should be more than enough.” 

Silence. The Minotaur’s eyes burn bright before dimming. 

“Enter.” 

  
  


Olympus runs crimson with blood, lightning cracking across the red sky in which hangs a blood-red moon. The undead and the wolves have stormed the gates, leaving a trail of dead bodies in their wake. The valiant mortals who came to their aid litter the streets, bodies piled together in heaps. Wolves in their human form lie pierced through with arrows, their clothes ripped, tattered from transformation. Fallen Nephilim lie at the foot of wounded gods who struggle for strength, struggle to keep their power in tact. 

Jae and Wonpil glide through the sky on the back of the Pegasus, white and bright against the blood-orange light. Jae leaves a trail of lightning behind them before he holds his shield up to deflect daggers thrown by the undead. Wonpil takes aim with his bow and shoots, hitting four in a row. Below them, Dowoon is in wolf form, large and muscular, tearing other wolves limb from limb, reaching up to claw at vampires right through their chests. Brian swoops across the horizon, wings black as ink, his scythe cutting through some of his kingdom’s best soldiers, his heart aching as they erupt into a flurry of thick, black blood, their screams piercing through the air. 

His heart is pounding. He looks around, trying to assess how well they’re faring, trying to see whether or not they’ll hold off until Sungjin gets back. He frowns, eyebrows furrowed as he sees the damage: some gods have fallen, their golden shadows spilling like mead onto the pale earth--but so have a lot of the enemy. He feels hope bloom in his chest.

_ We can do it.  _

And then he sees it: Zeus, bound with iron chains as he’s fallen on the ivory steps. Carmilla, her dagger drawn and held to Zeus’s throat. Gamja, an armored foot held to the god’s jaw. 

“No! Stop!” A loud cry followed by the beating of wings--Jae and Wonpil soar above Brian and he follows, blood going cold at the sound of Jae’s voice, high-pitched with fear.

Dowoon spots them and tears at two wolves at their heels before following them

“It’s over,” Carmilla says, her voice deep, resonant, like aged wine. 

“No,” Jae says, shaking his head. “Let him go.”

“My son,” Carmilla says, reaching  a hand out to Brian. “My son, stop this madness. Once I slaughter this so-called god, all of the universe--mortal, dead, immortal--will be mine.” 

Brian feels a pang in his chest, his grip on the moonstone scythe tightening. He feels the pull of his mother’s magic, feels her trying to turn his will. 

“Bri--” Jae says, getting off the Pegasus and running toward him.

“--Jae, get back--” 

Brian closes his eyes, trying to fight his mother’s magic even as his knees buckle. He feels it pull at the longing in him that’s been there since he was younger--that longing for love, for recognition, to become who he was born to be. For a moment, he thinks of how easy it could be: to help her, to help his uncle, to go home to the Blue Kingdom where everything is cool and sleepy and still.

“Hyung!” Dowoon cries out, morphing out of wolf form and running behind Jae, toward him. 

His vision swims, his head spinning. 

And then Jae’s lips are on his. And then the warmth of him sends Brian back to the present, his memories running through him like a reel of film through light--the past few years: his father, dead on the throne, him being tried in the Chamber of Dawn, him and Dowoon in prison, fighting for their lives, him and Dowoon fleeing the prison, him meeting Jae, him making friends with Wonpil and Dowoon and Sungjin, him and Jae holding each other in his old bedroom. Him and Jae. He feels strength flow back into him.

_ No. I will not hand you my life--I will not hand you anymore lives.  _

And then, a black arrow sails through the air and pierces Gamja’s heart. Gamja lets out a blood-curdling scream, black blood running down his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his chest where the arrow hit. He begins to melt, skin slipping off his bones that erode until all that’s left is ash and blood, his shoes empty. 

“Scoundrels!” Carmilla bares Zeus’s throat and is about to cut across it with her dagger when there’s a sudden noise that makes the very earth hum. She frowns, baring her teeth. “What was that--” 

And then there is the sound a wave about to crash--and all of death’s black horses and the hounds of hell, reapers riding atop their backs, rush into olympus like a wave, Sungjin at the helm of the battalion, his crossbow poised to shoot, his quiver full of black arrows, laced with death even for the undead. 

“--spare none of the enemy! Take no prisoners!” 

Brian grins, then, as he hears Wonpil’s relieved sigh at the sound of Sungjin returning.  _ Thank you.  _

Everywhere, vampires and wolves fall, the strongest generals of the Blue Kingdom and the packs of wolves reduced to bodies and ash. 

Amid the destruction, Brian opens his eyes, black and piercing, tightening his grip on the moonstone scythe before he pushes forward, wings unfurling as he slices through Carmilla in on swift movement, the scythe cutting her in half, blood spilling as she screams, as she bursts into ash. 

The remaining vampires try to flee or die trying, the rest of the wolves begging for mercy, the army of death helping wounded gods, who make their way toward the pantheon steps. Above them, Ares gallops across the sky, pulling the black, star-studded night over everything. 

Zeus bursts from the chains Carmilla put him in, Wonpil and Dowoon running to help him. 

Sungjin pulls up on the steps behind them. 

“Sorry I was late.” 

Bran grins, finally letting himself breath. 

_ It’s over. It’s finally over.  _

“Babe,” Jae says softly, coming up by Brian’s side, softly stroking his cheek. “Let’s go home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter/CC: @teenuviel1227


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